Memory Dust
by elishadowy
Summary: Both affected by Memory Dust, a powdery essence known to rid the victim of their memories with no known way to bring them back, Ron and Hermione both lead separate lives, in a world they don't belong to. But what malice tore apart, destiny can put back together.
1. Living in a Lie

**Memory Dust**

Chapter 1- Living in a Lie

The owl flapped her wings energetically, floating to the window where she always delivered the _Daily Prophet_ in the morning. Finally reaching her destination, she landed on the window from outside, knocking into it with her beak. She soon saw a woman with longish red hair wearing a robe walk into the kitchen, wiping her eyes and stretching. Lazily nearing the window, she opened it and let the owl in. Ginny Weasley quickly took a _Daily Prophet_ from her, shoving two Knuts into a bag she carried. Before departing, the owl had a refreshing drink of the water that always waited for her every morning.

Once the owl was gone, Ginny left the window open to let fresh air in, inhaling the unsullied scent of spring coming. Pulling a chair from the table, she placed it by the window and sat down, opening the Daily Prophet to see whether anything new had occurred, whether there was anything new of Ron and Hermione.

Three years had passed by too quickly; Harry and Ginny hadn't even noticed. They spent the majority of their time looking for their lost friends, without success. Browsing through the pages, Ginny closely examined every piece of information that might finally be the main clue, the key to their mysterious disappearance. A lot of time went by, a lot of days were lost, a lot of moments unnoticed, but Ginny still had hope and even though that hope had not left her, it was slowly but surely weakening. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to have lost his faith long ago.

"Good morning, love," he said from the doorway, walking over to her and pressing a soft kiss onto her forehead. Ginny smiled at the touch of his lips and tenderly ran her hand up his arm. Yawning, Harry went to the kitchen counter and poured himself a glass of cold water. Drinking it in one gulp, he looked inquiringly at Ginny, knowing that searching look of hers by heart. Every morning, every day, her routine was the same. No matter the weather, no matter what else was happening, she needed to look through the Daily Prophet in case she missed something.

"Look!"

Harry jumped at her sudden loud voice. Running a hand through his bed-tousled hair, which was messier than usual, he walked over to her, wondering what on earth she could have seen.

"What is it?"

"Look here, Ron and Hermione are mentioned here. We are, too, but look… there's even a photograph! It's an article about Hogwarts and Quidditch. Oh my, Lee Jordan wrote this and he added photos of celebrations we had in our common room."

Harry couldn't help but smile as the beautiful memories flooded back to his mind. After all, memories of Ron and Hermione were the only things he had left. The photo had been taken in their fifth year; Ron was holding the Quidditch cup, his robes wet from all the butterbeer that had been poured on him and Hermione was clutching his arm, smiling proudly up at him. Harry never knew of this moment, but even though back then he hadn't even considered the possibility of the two of them getting together, he could see that the devotion and admiration had been in their eyes even then.

"Aren't they beautiful together?" Ginny said softly.

Harry nodded absent-mindedly, but returned to reality as Ginny stood up and tore the article carefully out of the paper. Striding over to the cupboard, she opened it and pulled out a black folder, holding it with special care. She highlighted sentences about Ron and Hermione and placed it between a stock of articles, photographs and other papers that had something to do with either Ron or Hermione. There was also a small silky fabric, in which was wrapped Hermione's engagement ring. Ginny ran her fingers across it, but she resisted the urge to take it into her hands and think about everything too intently, as she had done a hundred times before.

"You know, it's such a shame they had so little time for each other." Furrowing her brows, Ginny tilted her head to one side and thought for a second. "Harry? Do you think there is any possibility they may be together?"

"We've been through this, Gin," Harry said gloomily, his pessimistic mood taking over him once more.

Looking up from the folder and to Harry, Ginny couldn't hide her sudden frustration. "Why are you so jumpy every time I talk about them? They may be lost, but certainly not from my heart, so don't ask me to forget them."

Smacking his forehead, Harry shut his eyes and scratched his head. "I never asked you to do that, nor do I plan to… ever. I'm not trying to forget them, but it's just…difficult to go through this every goddamned morning! I know it's hard, believe me that this whole thing is not any easier for me, even though it's been three years. I'm just saying we should move on. We've been looking for them for so long and found nothing."

Closing the folder with a thud, Ginny violently pushed it back into the cupboard and slammed it shut. Without looking at Harry, she stomped out of the room with her arms crossed, leaving Harry by himself. She loathed him when he said things like that. When he was discouraging her and second-guessing her actions. When he looked at her as if she was crazy, chasing ghosts. But what she hated even more was the fact that he was right, and she knew it.

She understood that he had had enough, that he wanted to live a normal life, even if it had to be without his loved ones. Ginny also knew that she wasn't helping much since she was 'chasing her ghosts' as Harry once called it when having an argument with her and that happened quite a lot lately. Harry desperately tried to cope with what was left to come, cope with reality, cope with everything. That's what he'd been doing all his life – coping. He had been through a lot and tried to close his eyes before possibilities and false hope, and Ginny knew it was because he didn't think he could take another heartbreak. And that was why he tried to believe Hermione and Ron were dead. Everything led to that conclusion.

Ginny tried as well, she went to bed every night, telling herself she would move on and live with Harry, the love of her life, always remembering her brother and best friend as wonderful people that had great impact on her life. However, every morning, she let that owl in and read the bloody _Daily Prophet_.

Sometimes inner feelings don't allow you to forget and go on, they make you search and continue searching for the truth until you're out of your mind. Ginny knew she was close to it anyway, but she also knew that Ron and Hermione were somewhere, alive and waiting for her to find them and bring them back. One thing was for certain – Ginny Weasley would not rest until she'd caught all her ghosts.

* * *

A young girl hummed to herself her favourite song from Bryan Adams, placing various groceries on shelves in a grocery store. A tag on her shirt read 'Chelsea' and she was about twenty years old, with short brown hair tied into a tiny ponytail. She had big brown eyes and was quite skinny. Out of the blue, a pair of strong arms grabbed her from behind and spun around the whole alley. She giggled, knowing by heart that action her friend would do when she wasn't paying attention.

As she finally landed on the ground, she turned around to look at her co-worker, a man with red hair, blue eyes and the cutest expression on his face.

"Ron! I told you to stop that. You always freak me out!" she laughed, smacking him playfully on his arm.

"Don't lie…you love when I do that," he replied with a chuckle, ruffling her hair, purposely acting as though she were a kid. In reality, she was more than a kid to him, and she knew that. As they smiled at each other, Chelsea walked back over to the shelves, continuing her work.

"What are you doing here? If I had a day off, I would spend the whole morning in bed," she said, smiling at him. Returning the smile, Ron walked over to her and began helping her.

"I woke up early and realized my fridge is empty, so I had to go and do some shopping. I don't like to lay in bed hungry."

As much as Chelsea tried, she couldn't prevent her cheeks from turning red. This happened every time she and Ron joked around, were close or just smiled at each other. She couldn't help herself, couldn't help feeling a deep affection toward this funny, good and high-spirited man. He could always make her laugh and his sense of humour was like no one else's. Ever since they began working together, Chelsea's feelings for Ron had grown stronger and stronger.

She didn't have any idea what he felt for her, because even though he didn't seem like it, Ron was one big mystery, not only to her, but to everybody around. He didn't like to talk about himself or his past and family; sometimes it seemed he didn't know what to talk about and rather remained silent. Chelsea liked him very much despite this and although they were great friends, she wanted more. But she was afraid. Sometimes when he looked at her, she felt as though he shared her feelings, but other times…she was convinced he saw her as no more than a friend. She wouldn't risk their friendship. And what was even weirder…sometimes she felt as though Ron didn't belong to her, but someone else. She could never quite understand why she had that feeling, but in the end she reckoned it was her doubts and worries creating it.

Another thing that Chelsea - and not just her, but other people as well - admired or envied about Ron was his carefree mood. He appeared as though nothing could get to him, as though he never went through anything horrible; he appeared purely innocent, despite his roguish, wild nature.

"Chelsea? Hello! Where are you?"

Breaking back to reality, Chelsea noticed Ron's hand waving in front of her face, his expression amused. Grinning slightly, Chelsea ran a hand through her hair.

"Sorry, I got lost in thought. Anyway, I have a free evening…how about going out to see a movie?" she offered happily, hoping Ron would agree.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Ron tapped his chin. "Hmm, I don't know…you know…my calendar is full…Being me has its disadvantages, what with all the attention and work I have."

Laughing, Chelsea threw a pack of rice she was holding at him, which he dropped. She laughed some more and so did Ron. "Come to my house at seven. We'll go see a film and have lots of fun. Just like last time."

Beaming at her, Ron nodded. "Okay then…I'll be there."

Feeling as though she just hovered a few inches above the ground, Chelsea tried not to look too happy, but inside she was screaming with happiness. They kept doing their work in silence, Chelsea turning pink every time their arms brushed against each other.

"Ron? Tell me some childhood stories. I mean, you must've been a very goofy kid," grinned Chelsea, thinking that childhood stories couldn't ruin anything. She expected Ron to start speaking excitedly, but to her surprise he leaned an arm against the shelf and furrowed his eye brows. Looking confused, Ron held his chin in his fingers, this time really looking thoughtful. "Ron?"

"You won't believe this, but…I don't remember any."

Wincing, Chelsea fixed her eyes upon him, thinking it was another of his jokes, but he looked quite serious.

"Really," continued Ron, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean, as I try to remember, there are some clouded moments, but I cannot quite…remember. I see images and some faces I don't recognize, but…that's all."

"What? How about your parents? Siblings? Friends? Are you suffering from amnesia?" she asked jokingly, but soon realized it might've been the cause.

"Um, well…I remember them…I guess I'm an only child and my parents died."

"Sorry," Chelsea said quietly, avoiding his gaze.

Casting a sideways glance at Chelsea, Ron averted his gaze, looking at his watch. "Yes. So anyway, I'll be going. Meet you at seven, bye!" Without any further ado, Ron left, but before that, he pressed a small butterfly kiss on Chelsea's cheek, who suddenly forgot all about the fact Ron just ran away from answering her questions.

Ron exited the store, hands in his pockets. It was a beautiful day, the last snow was finally gone, because it was already spring. But Ron's mood suddenly reminded a cloudy autumn day. Walking down the streets of Edinburgh, Ron couldn't stop thinking about what has just occurred. It wasn't the first time it had happened, but somehow he always pushed those thoughts away and convinced himself it was just due to his exhaustion or hazy mind. Now, for the first time, he truly realized that he had almost no memories. He actually didn't even remember how he began working at his job, living at his flat. All he remembered was just that he…did. He never belonged to that group of people who constantly ponder their existence and purpose; Ron went with the flow.

Most of the times, Ron ignored this. He was living his comfortable life, enjoying his friends and every single day. He had what he needed and he didn't bother thinking about his life in a deeper way. However, there were moments where he felt as though something was missing. He felt that his life was somehow incomplete, as if it was a puzzle, missing a piece.

But why?

Who cared about the fogged past when he had such wonderful present? He had friends, steady job and Chelsea. He liked her very much, not as much as she liked him, but still…he liked her more than a friend. Yet that didn't always feel right. Chelsea was lovely, but Ron still couldn't quite open up to her, because he wasn't sure he loved her.

Shaking his head at the confused thoughts running through his mind, Ron decided he would not think more of it. He didn't care. It didn't mean anything. He would just concentrate on here and now, not try to dig in his past. For what? If he was missing and lost his memory, someone would find him…it wasn't that hard these days.

As Ron thought about everything, he didn't notice that he walked carelessly into the road and his mind, and personal world, was suddenly interrupted and shattered when a car hit him. He didn't even feel the pain, everything just went black.

* * *

"Jean, Jonathan is here. Should I let him in?" A young woman with glasses, sitting behind a desk, looked up from her papers to the redhead in the doorway.

"Really?" she asked with a sigh, taking off her glasses and leaning back into her chair. Her brown bushy hair was in a state of frenzy and her brown eyes looked tired but alert. "Well, I guess you can let him in. Thanks Sheila."

"Okay then," replied Sheila and disappeared behind the door. Jean stood up and strode over to a small mirror resting on a shelf loaded with heavy binders full of paperwork. Upon seeing her reflection, she just rolled her eyes and pulled her thick hair into a neat bun. Right that moment a tall, handsome, dark haired man walked in, wearing a suit. He was carrying a box in his arms and a sombre expression upon his face.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual. He set the box on top of the desk in front of Jean. "This should be everything."

Jean gave him a polite nod and looked inside the box, inspecting the objects emotionlessly. A couple of shirts, sweater, washed sets of underwear, neatly folded, and a toothbrush.

"What about my-"

"I'll send the books by my assistant later today, it was three heavy boxes, Jean," he replied, with a hint of annoyance. Jean settled back into her chair and avoided his gaze, instead looking around the room guiltily.

"You could've just sent this box along as well," she said, trying not to sound too ruthless, but games weren't something she had time for.

"Nothing escapes you, does it" he replied icily and stood up abruptly. "Well, if you really want to rub it in...I wanted to see you, maybe for one last time? You see, this break-up came as a sort of surprise to me, I thought things were going fine!"

"Yes, things were fine, but a little too fine, and a little too fast."

"A little too fine? What's that supposed to even mean? You're leaving me because we were doing great, because I was good to you?"

"I tried to explain this to you many times, and you would never listen, you never hear me out, just dismiss whatever I try to express to you that doesn't suit you. We have different opinions about what 'doing great' means."

"Dismiss what? You claiming you feel like a changeling, that your life somehow doesn't fit? You think you're special just because you're having a bit of an existential crisis like every other person out there-"

"This is it, this is exactly it...I'm done, I don't have to explain myself to you anymore. I'm busy."

Jonathan was about to snap something back, but the finality of her last statement solidified him to the ground. He stared at her, almost purple in the face, but from the little time he spent with this woman, he knew there was no point arguing with her. He didn't know how.

"Fine, have it your way. Be alone, that's what you do best." He put his hands into his pockets, turning for the door. "Can I have my key back?"

Without a word, Jean stood up and strode to her purse and took out a set of keys. In one swift movement she pulled his key off the hook and handed it to him.

"Jonathan, I really am sorry, for my part in this whole mess," she said quietly, and she meant it. But he just scoffed and shook his head sadly.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Take care," he mumbled, and as easy as that, he was out the door and out of her life. Jean leaned with her back against the door and sighed somewhat sadly, but on the whole it was a sigh of relief.

He had been a nice enough man, intelligent, well-to-do, an engaging personality, and still she couldn't make it work in her mind. Things in her life were hard to explain, even more so since it was quite an ordinary life she had. She had tried to explain it to him, how sometimes she would get a sinking feeling of being so disconnected from her life and reality she would stumble. How on some mornings she would wake up and struggle to remember who she actually was. How even her relationship with Jonathan, the first serious relationship she ever remembered having, felt like living in a lie.

* * *

"That's it then? No more Mr. Handsome Lawyer guy?" Sheila remarked with raised eyebrows, as they walked down the hospital corridor toward the coffee machine in the corner.

"I'm afraid not. I feel better this way. It's the only way I can ever maintain a feeling of normalcy, not having to deal with conflicting feelings of being with someone I don't feel connected to."

"Maybe you just haven't found the right one."

"Maybe it's not necessary to, at all. I don't want to have to find someone to feel complete. I kind of have to figure this on my own," Jean said, depositing the coins into the machine and crossing her arms as the pop of the plastic cup falling out of the machine announced her coffee was on the way.

Shrugging, Sheila didn't say anything. She heard enough about Jean's feelings of incompleteness and feeling torn and out of touch from the life she had. She had very little to offer except understanding. Wasn't everyone in this time lost, one way or the other? Jean grabbed her coffee and inhaled it gratefully, stepping aside to let Sheila get her drink, but the shrieking of the ambulance sounded from the distance, getting closer and closer. Suddenly a pair of wheels screeched in front of the main sliding doors and the paramedics burst in, pushing injured people in front of them.

"A car accident in the centre…this one's really injured!" He referred to a man that laid on the bed, his blazing red hair sprawled around the blue pillow with his head bleeding. For a fraction of a second, the world around her didn't reach Jean. She just stared at the man blankly, feeling a bit strange and dizzy. Suddenly her head began to hurt and her eyes water. Without realizing, Jean dropped her coffee cup to the floor and felt herself dragged to the side by Sheila, out of the way of the paramedics.

She was drinking in the man's appearance, his long nose and freckles dotting his skin, and a desperate urge to run to him and help him overcame her so swiftly her knees buckled.

Doctors swooped in from nearby offices and corridors and were already tending to the unconscious man on the stretcher. Sheila went to pull Jean away from the scene, but Jean wouldn't budge. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to look away as faint buzzing filled her head. Seconds later, however, the doctors with the patient disappeared behind sliding doors. She was left there, standing in the pool of the spilled coffee, feeling like something precious had been taken away from her.

 **Author's Note: Hello hello, if you are new to the story, please welcome, thank you for reading, and please read on. If you're reading this again because of the edits, hope you will like the updated and refreshing version of Hermione's story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you!**


	2. Risky Business

**Memory Dust**

Chapter 2: Risky Business

Jean had been living an ordinary yet strange life until now. It was a known fact this young, friendly woman had an air of mystery about her, which even she herself couldn't figure out. No one knew where she came from; she never bothered to explain nor search for answers deeper within her. Looking for truth is a risky business, because while bravely waiting and preparing for it, in the end it's always able to shatter a steady, peaceful life within a second. Jean was aware of this.

Satisfied with only vague memories of childhood that made her feel cold and distant from her own life, Jean avoided people and situations that might've been in any way connected to the truth. On these occasions she would get scared despite herself, running away and ignoring the resurfacing facts indicating something was not right. That's why her relationships with men didn't work either. They kept asking her things about her past, things she wasn't sure about. They wanted to meet her parents, parents she didn't speak to. And overall they always made her feel like the whole thing was off within the first month. That's why it was better to be alone. Then she didn't have to be bothered with facing the fact that something was violently wrong with her life.

And then there were the dreams. Jean would have on and off dreams that dripped with fear and desperation. She would never remember anything visual from the dream, except sparkling gold dust cascading around her. There were screams, though, and she would always hear a man's voice call a name: Hermione.

It wouldn't bother her as much, were it not for the gold chain that she had always had. It was a silver locket with the name 'Hermione' inscribed inside it. For some wild reason, Jean was convinced that while the name was unfamiliar, it had to somehow be a part of her. She never tried to find out, which was extremely uncharacteristic for a person that normally wouldn't rest until she found all her answers.

This wasn't natural; the cowardice with which she lived and had to endure when it came to her hidden, confusing feelings.

Ronald Hamilton stirred in his sleep, startling Jean, who had been staring at him fixedly for half an hour already. According to his doctors, he had been a bit of a miracle case. They had brought him in with severe injuries but by the time they opened him up, his injuries seemed to have gone, as if he had fixed himself. His case was to be examined further, inspecting the diagnosis given by the paramedics and doctors alike, prior to the actual surgery. The whole thing was quite bizarre, almost magical.

Here it was, one of those rare occasions that made her tremble and go pale, numb to the world around her.

The first moment she had spotted him, she knew he wasn't just a patient that needed his life saved. It's that feeling every human sometime gets, the déjà vu that spins off the wild associations, hazy ideas and strangest feelings. Jean felt this both physically and mentally; her thoughts were a whirl, which was rather unusual for a person so organized and collected. Her skin tingled, and she shivered constantly, butterflies taking permanent place to stay in her stomach.

Was it possible she had just lost her memory and this man that shook her world while being _unconscious_ had been a part of her life before? It was the only possible explanation. But Jean hadn't lost her memory. She remembered things, places and people that were long gone from her life, but there was a rupture between her childhood, and adolescence, and the now. The now was real, tangible…and before felt as though it had never happened, though she knew it had. Who could understand it?

For a person who always had an answer for everything, this annoyed Jean to her wit's end.

Forcing herself to get back from her turbulent feelings, Jean took in the presence of the sleeping man, stabilized, out of danger. She let her eyes linger on him, trying to identify the face with freckles and the long nose, his vivid red hair sprawled across the pillow. If only she could distinguish the face, because when looking it at it, she felt amazing tenderness and longing swell in her heart, one that could never match what she felt for Jonathan. Maybe this was what distressed her so much.

The answer to who he was seemed to be hovering in the air, waiting for Jean to grasp it, but every time she felt like getting to the conclusion, it all slipped away and she was left with that unnerving feeling of not knowing.

Unaware of what she was doing, because in a right state of mind she wouldn't dare, she took a step closer to his bed, slightly bending her head a little. Feeling his breath on her skin, her eyes widened as his calm expression altered. He seemed to be going through a nightmare of sorts, face contorted in anguish and eyes shut tightly. Wanting to reach out and soothe him, Jean felt her entire body shake. The man turned his head abruptly, his nose brushing against hers, sending Jean flying upwards to straighten up and take three steps back.

Ready to turn around and storm out and never set eyes on this stranger again, Jean froze momentarily, rooted to the spot, her heartbeat speeding up to the point of failing her.

"Her-my-o-nee," he whispered, the few tangled syllables parting his lips slowly yet firmly. Immediately the muscles in his face eased, while Jean stared, her heart fluttering against her ribcage like a trapped bird. Backing away, she bumped into a bedside table by an empty bed, sending a glass vase resting atop it flying to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.

Gasping, she hastily bent down in an attempt to clean the mess, and then it felt as if her heart stopped completely, for the man had woken up, sitting up, staring at her in bafflement.

Their eyes were locked for a moment, Jean's mind going completely blank. It was like suffering an intellectual breakdown; she could hear a voice yelling in her head, "Think, think, think!" She couldn't. The only thing she was sensing was his eyes. His odd, pale blue eyes that watched her apprehensively and with mystification.

"Where am I?" he asked slowly, his hand flying up to his forehead. The pain after the surgery still had to be there, Jean thought immediately. Standing up instinctively, she walked over to him and checked his eyes and pulse, postponing the moment she would have to speak, trying to get rid of her newfound curiosity.

"You got hit by a car this morning, Mr.…" she glanced at his card, "Mr. Hamilton. You're at the Royal Victoria Hospital right now. Your head surgeon will be with you shortly, once he finds out you're awake." Her voice was surprisingly steady. "You were extremely lucky. It would seem that you're only bruised despite the serious injuries you suffered when you've been hit by a car. All functions are normal and once you're strong enough, we'll do some more tests to be completely sure everything is all right."

"Aren't you my doctor?" he mumbled, massaging his head and blinking around.

"I'm a trainee only at the moment, but yes, I am here for you if you need me."

Nodding, he heaved a sigh and looked up at Jean with a strange look on his face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he closed it and averted his gaze.

"Do you know me from somewhere?"

The question escaped her lips before she could stop it. Standing there, even more shocked than he was, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her white coat, trying to look calm and composed.

"Why would I?" he asked with his brows forming one line, and his eyes shooting upwards to stare at her. "I cannot deny you're awfully familiar and…" His voice trailed off and his ears went pink. "I don't know you and I'm sure we've never met before. But, why would you assume I know you?"

Jean stepped from one foot to another, her eyes darting all over the room. She put a lot of effort into avoiding his gaze; for some odd reason she found it implausibly alluring. Thinking hard what to say next, forbidding herself to blurt out another silly, confusing question, Jean shrugged her shoulders.

"You-you said a name in your sleep," she replied almost inaudibly and then chuckled nervously.

"Did I say your name?"

"Not…not exactly. It could be a coincidence, of course. It's just that it's not a … common name. But, coincidences happen from time to time, don't they?" she added, not believing this herself.

The man looked down and seemed to ponder this for a second. He then lifted his head and there was some kind of a goofy, confused smile playing over his lips. "Look, I'm sorry if I've upset you. This sometimes happens to me, you see. Recalling things and names I don't recognize. It's kind of funny, actually." He hesitated, not noticing that Jean had gone rigid. "Sometimes I think as though I was living a life that's not mine and there is another world, from which I've been ripped out of."

Jean's breath got stuck in her throat; somehow the sharp breath she inhaled never found its way out. Her heartbeat sped up to an unhealthy pace and her vision grew hazy.

Shaking her head, Jean bit back the sudden laughter that overcame her. _What was wrong with her?_ she wondered, feeling ridiculous.

The answer lay before her with red hair and confused, dizzy eyes. Something significant was happening and Jean had an odd sense of foreboding. Here he was, Ron, a name and a face she couldn't connect with anything, and yet looking at him felt more familiar and real than anything had ever felt. She had tried to tell herself that she was being weird and fidgety, just exaggerating little feelings and questions within herself, only to hear him utter the doubts and uncertainties that were identical to her own.

"Excuse me, but are you all right?" he asked after a moment, appearing to be at great unease, just as she was. Running a hand through his hair, he peered closely at the name tag on Jean's coat. "Your name's Jean?"

Snapping out of her daze, Jean nodded. A weird feeling in the pits of her stomach made her wince. It felt like a lie.

"What did I say then?"

Jean hesitated for a second, but then she looked him straight in the eyes. "You said…Hermione."

"Hermione…" He spoke the name, uttering the four strange syllables in a way that made her tremble. From the look on his face, he didn't recognize the name just as he didn't recognize her at all, yet still when their eyes locked with each other, there was the same questioning and frightened glow.

Perhaps it was just her imagination going wilder and wilder by the second, but even his voice sounded just like the one she heard in her dreams. Only this time it sounded gentle and sweet, not full of fear and anguish like in the dream.

"I have to go," Jean said hastily, turning on her heel and striding to the door quickly.

"Wait!" shouted Ron, but the door was already shut in his bewildered face. He sat there without moving for several minutes, thinking over everything what had just occurred. The small pain in his head was slowly subsiding, yet it was still clouded and blurred. The feeling of emptiness overtook him, and he suddenly knew that if he didn't find out who this woman was, he would not rest. There was something about her; something that made him feel like a person coming home from a long, trying journey at last.

 _Hermione._ Or was it Jean? In his mind, the two names merged and the woman became both the names.

For a name sounding so strange, he felt a rush of familiarity for it. As though he had once heard it a million times before.

* * *

Passing through the halls like a ghost, striding quickly, Jean finally found her office and headed straight to the file cabinet. Throwing out folders precariously, she searched for the letter H, so startled her fingers were trembling. Soon she found it, and there was the newly created folder for Ronald Hamilton. There was no information on him, just an address near the centre of Edinburgh and other useless information.

Throwing the folder on her desk, she left her office, hardly bothering to close the door, running to the lockers. As she got there, she pulled out her brown coat and rummaged in the pockets to find the silver locket. Even though she couldn't remember where she got it from, and it didn't even had her name on, she wore it most of the time. Somewhere in the back of her brain she just always figured she had picked it up somewhere in an antique shop.

Opening the locket, she looked at the name again. _Hermione_. Once again, just thinking it, she could hear his voice saying it. And it brought strange comfort and wonder to her heart. How was this possible?

This time, running away and hiding wouldn't do. It wasn't a thought or a strange dream pointing her in all directions. Nor was it a speck of a memory flashing through her mind, associating itself to the idea that it belonged to her. This was nothing that could be so easily ignored.

For the first time, Jean wanted to know. For the first time, Jean wanted to risk the safety of her life and plunge into the secret and mysterious past that never brought her comfort or answers. Curiosity was eating her from the inside, and she was suddenly hungry for the truth at last. Making up her mind quite suddenly and resolutely, Jean decided she would try to find out who this stranger was and how he connected to her past, and connect some of the dots in her own life, though she did not know how to go about it or where to even start. However, she would have to do it without Ronald Hamilton and his startling presence.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** As you might have guessed, some names in the story have been changed for now :) I want to thank you to people who reviewed or favorited the story. It will be a long one. I wrote it ages ago so I have a lot of chapters written already, so you can expect regular updates. Please review if you have some time. Thank you for reading.


	3. Loneliness

**Memory Dust**

Chapter 3: Loneliness

Jean opened the door into her flat and as she walked in, silence embraced her. Last bits and pieces of noises died away as she shut the door. She tossed her keys and bag onto a tattered old sofa after she walked deeper into the house. Her arms were holding the box Jonathan had brought over that day, and on top of it was a stack of files. She liked reading through mountains of information, just to make her own conclusions and gather ideas about cases. In addition, most of her working day she spent mulling over the new mysterious patient called Ronald, and so fell behind on a large portion of her daily work.

She set the box with the files on the floor next to her reading armchair and collapsed into its soft cushions. A tall reading lamp was standing beside the chair, as well as a stack of books. Jean's flat was a small and cosy place, where stacks of books served as coffee tables and other useful surfaces. The lack of furniture was made up for by a number of fluffy rugs on the cold tiled floors. The room she entered straight from the door was connected to a small kitchenette that was separated by a counter. Next to the counter there was only one stool. Jonathan had hardly come over to her place, but whenever he did, he complained about the lack of a second chair. He even offered to buy some furniture, to make the place more inhabitable for two people instead of just one, but Jean had refused. She liked it this way. She liked having a place that was only hers.

The truth was that even though she felt agonizingly lonely from time to time, mostly she enjoyed her freedom and self-reliance. She wasn't in touch with her family, that were just distant faces in her memory as well as in reality. The couple of friends she had over the years were mostly just work acquaintances, people she respected and delighted in conversing with, but didn't sought their further company once working hours were over. She enjoyed her endless solitude and independence, and whenever she was attacked by a gaping empty feeling inside her heart, she had books and tea and personal projects to fill those places. Sometimes, however, the loneliness made her go slightly crazy, maybe this was one of those times. It was odd how even though she felt unable to connect to people like Jonathan or Sheila after a multitude of personal conversations, a couple of moments in the presence of the man from the hospital made her feel ridiculously connected to _him_.

There was something about the way he looked at her, and about the way he shifted his eyes when asked about his family. Something within him wasn't quite right, just like with her. But Jean didn't believe in soul mates, and she didn't much believe in destiny either. So shortly after shaking Jonathan off, she felt her peace and safety was threatened again.

Jean suddenly couldn't read any more. She shut the file and let it rest in her lap while she leaned back her head. Her eyes were watering as she stared into the dim light of her lamp. Suddenly the silence of her home pressed in on her. Despite the warm temperature outside and in her flat, she felt a chill in her fingertips. Stretching her sweater sleeves to wrap her hands, she huddled deeper into her armchair and just sat quietly. Her head was full of twisting loud thoughts, but they were like a crowd of busy commuters on a Monday morning, just pushing and pushing across one another, creating an incoherent chaos in her brain.

Restless with these disjointed thoughts she stood up abruptly and walked over to the kitchenette to make some tea. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she took out her pendant from underneath her sweater and set it down on the counter, hoping to feel lighter upon shedding the trinket that was a tangible representation of all of her confusion.

She wondered briefly, that no matter how much she cherished her independence, maybe this one she couldn't crack all alone.

* * *

Ron was hospitalized for three days and then they gave him a release form. Even his minor injuries seemed to heal quickly and inexplicably. The doctors, however, didn't settle on this for long and emptied another bed. For two days Ron waited for Dr. Jean Granger to appear in his room, coming to ask more of her peculiar questions that she didn't seem to understand herself. Drawn to her in a way he couldn't explain, Ron clutched the plastic bag with his belongings dejectedly as he was discharged – she hadn't shown up.

Approaching the nurse sitting at reception and flipping through a magazine, Ron cleared his throat and the young woman glanced up at him, annoyed at being distracted from her reading. It was already evening and not many people sailed through the halls, only a doctor passed the rooms from time to time.

"I, er, I'm looking for Dr. Granger," he said. "She saved my life and I'd like to thank her."

Rolling her eyes, the nurse set the magazine on her knees, snapping her gum. "She's not here and won't be for the next two weeks. Leaving for a splendid, expensive vacation with her rich, snobbish fiancé."

Perking up an eyebrow, Ron felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Can you…can you tell me where can I find her? I really need to see her, you see."

"Sorry, but we're certainly not allowed to give out personal information about patients or doctors to other people," she said haughtily and went back to reading her magazine.

"No, no, please…this is really important. I don't know how to explain it, I need to see her."

Shutting the magazine and clicking her tongue impatiently, the nurse turned in her seat and glared at Ron. "You know what else is important? The privacy of others. We have our rules and terms of service in this institution, and we follow them, you know why? So we can protect people from lunatics like you."

Snorting sardonically, Ron widened his eyes. "Lunatic? I am not a lunatic, woman; I just need to find this person because she is the key to all I've ever wondered and questioned in my life."

This last and unusually poetic attempt to convince the nurse to help him was unsuccessful. Threatened to get thrown out by police, Ron gave up and willingly walked out of the hospital onto the darkening streets of Edinburgh. Desperately hoping to see her walk from behind a corner or park her car by the road, Ron was disappointed. Had it not been for the gum-chewing, impolite hag of a nurse, perhaps he would have gotten at least a little clue as to where he could find her. Jean. Or was it Hermione? _Hermione Jean_...the combination of the names that had been haunting his dreams sounded so right in his head.

He hardly took note of where he was going. Somehow he didn't feel like going back home, making sure his friends and Chelsea knew he was all right. The image of his flat didn't feel like home and the swift flashes of his friends' faces made him feel cold and remote.

The sun was setting and Ron angrily kicked a can laying on the road, shoving his hands into his pockets.

* * *

Charming all her bags to shrink to the size of a baby's fist, Ginny shoved them into her handbag and glanced back down at the shopping list her mother had prepared for her. Everything was crossed out except a Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent.

Putting the list back into her jeans pocket, Ginny looked down Diagon Alley and set out in the direction of the sinister Knockturn Alley just around the corner. Even though the war had been over for a few years, the place still had the same eerie, dark air about it. The walls of the close-set buildings were dirty, while years of grime were sprawled across the dusty roads that so few feet walked these days. Houses and shops close together, as if huddled to hide the sun from view, made the streets crooked and thin.

Ginny walked in quick strides, her eyes scanning the dirty windows with letters hidden under the settled dust. Reaching her destination, a small shop nestled between two tall flat buildings, she pushed the door open, an ancient bell tinkling above her head and a large cobweb stretching as the door opened fully.

The interior was lit up by a few candles perched on top of old cabinets and cupboards. This was one of the shops still thriving in Knockturn Alley, for its helpful though radical products used in housecleaning and working around the garden. Most of the shelves were lined with various repellents, dangerous planting seeds and fertilizers.

At the back of the shop, though, was a small rickety cupboard, half-opened. Walking closer, her eyes registering a soft glow coming from behind the little doors, Ginny reached the cupboard and opened it. Slightly creaking, the little door revealed various objects that had no place in a shop designed to sell products helpful around the house. There were thick books in black leather and shrunken things of unknown origin, but Ginny sensed they were made of human flesh. Then there were glasses filled with coloured liquids, dead animals floating inside, horrified looks upon their features.

Just as she was about to look away, another glass caught her eye, the one emitting the soft glow that had first grabbed her attention.

Running her fingertips across the cold glass where a soft-looking powder hovered, Ginny furrowed her eyebrows and read the product's description.

 _Memory Dust ~ a tiny, sparkling powdery essence, which, if thrown into the victim's eyes, puts the victim into a ten days long slumber. Once awoken, the victim's memories are replaced with false ones. The cure: unknown._

"I wouldn't touch that, missy, if I were you."

Ginny started at the sound of the rough old voice, snatching her hand away from the glass and turning around.

"One breath of tha' and you're done for." The man grinned, revealing large yellow teeth. His unpleasant face was covered in soot and thick eyebrows pointed in all directions.

"Where did you get it from?" she asked, her eyes darting to the glass with the sparkles in it again.

"Just like all my products. They come from nowhere in particular. Jus' appear."

"And cure unknown?" she asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Can come in handy now tha' there's a spell to reverse the Obliviate curse, eh?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Ginny took a step closer to the counter.

"I need one Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent…"

Grinning from ear to ear, the man nodded. "Yes, quite the pests this spring. All over gardens. Almost everything is sold, bu' I still 'ave some in the back," he said, turning around and disappeared in the next room.

As the man shuffled in his cupboards in the storage room, Ginny pondered the Memory Dust shortly. How ingenious, she thought, to create something to put people into a false life and rip their true past away from them.

He was back within seconds, carrying a large green can. A slug with fangs was on the cover, crossed out. Ginny paid the price, thanked the man and without further ado left the shop.

Hurrying away from the sinister place, Ginny felt free again under the warm glow of the sun engulfing the picturesque and lovely-looking Diagon Alley. Striding through the streets and into the Leaky Cauldron, greeting some friends on the way, she was now walking the London streets to her usual place of Apparition.

Thinking about the boring process of eradicating slugs from her mother's garden wearily, Ginny suddenly felt someone bump into her, sending her falling to the ground, papers whirling around her head.

"Ugh, sorry, Miss…wait a minute, Martha."

Looking up, Ginny spotted a tall man in a neat suit talking into a small black device with an antenna. He spoke with a heavy Scottish accent and wore a scandalized expression over his face. Shaking her head with silent laughter, thinking about her dad and the joy it would give him had she snatched the thing away, Ginny gathered the papers around her.

"No, dear, nothing happened, I just bumped into a woman," the man went on animatedly, crouching down across from Ginny and taking some papers himself. "No, I did not do it on purpose just to… _Martha_!" Dropping all his papers to the ground, he remained there crouching, his mouth hanging open as a shrieking voice sounded from his black phone.

Chuckling under her breath, Ginny stood up with the papers in her arms, ready to give them over. She glanced down momentarily and noticed she was holding a newspaper. The headline caught her eye; there was an accident and an unmoving picture of a man being carried into an ambulance car. His hair was strikingly red, much like that of her entire family and the face seemed awfully like…

No, it couldn't be. Ginny sharpened her gaze and squinted down at the picture, but the useless Muggle photo was of low quality and she couldn't see it clearly, yet the unconscious man's familiar-looking long nose made her heart skip a beat.

"Thank you." The man's voice ripped through her thoughts as he took all his papers away from her and continued walking off. "No, dear, I swear I do love you and only you. Yes, yes, she was terribly ugly and I bumped into her because she was so _wide_."

Standing there dumbfounded, Ginny watched his back until he disappeared in the crowd. Getting her senses back, she turned on her heel and hurried off to Apparate away and tell Harry immediately.

* * *

Loneliness has many forms and shapes. There's the painful loneliness, when you really, really miss someone that you know cannot be replaced. Also the loneliness which we all know; one where a person feels secluded from the world, abandoned and neglected from friends and family; the so-called bitter loneliness. Then there is the intentional solitude that can restore the equanimity of mind, doesn't hurt, for even the sound of the word alone is beautiful.

And lastly there can be the empty loneliness - the most unexplainable and self-destructing. When you don't understand the reason that you're feeling lonely, and you feel alone in a place crowded with people. It's when you feel alone with people you know and genuinely like. It's when you desperately miss something, and it's not coming, and it's terribly out of your reach, making you feel as though you had no beating heart at all, for there seems to be nothing in you, only infinite hollowness.

Ron had always felt lonely, though he was hardly aware of his feelings; he didn't give them all the recognition he should have. The thing was, up until this point, meeting the woman from the hospital, he had never really searched for something. Now, however, he felt he had found something he maybe should have been looking for.

For one wild second while staring into her soft, brown eyes, he felt whole again. There wasn't exactly any physical attraction between them, though she was rather striking, but the warmth around his heart made him sure this was not some kind of a wild illusion or idea. Maybe she was a friend from the past he couldn't quite remember, or maybe he was simply meant to get to know her better for all it could take.

And now, when he had found her, he had lost her just as quickly. The fact that it pained him so much told him there was truly something more in all this, something to know and to discover.

The sky was now completely dark, first stars glinting in the distance, giving Ron the desire to reach out and touch them, knowing answers were somewhere in the dark, far away, and she was one of those stars.

There was a world far beyond, and why he longed for it so much he still didn't know. But then, maybe he didn't need to know everything.

Sighing, Ron turned on his heel, his shadow spinning under the lamplight. About to give up on his aimless searching and head home, he halted and went completely rigid. As if by a miracle - an unspoken wish - there she stood under the lamp, holding paper bags full of groceries in her arms, staring at him with her eyes wide.

Suddenly both of them knew that this was no longer a coincidence.

* * *

Author's Note: Hope you liked it. Introduction time is over, now the real story can begin! Please review and thank you for reading.


	4. Lost and Found

**Memory Dust**

Chapter 4: Lost and Found

One glance around the living room told him she was at it again. Newspaper clippings were strewn across the coffee table, with Hermione's wand resting in between the papers, untouched for years. Ginny was in the kitchen, with her head in the fireplace, talking about some newspaper in a demanding voice.

"I don't care how you do it, Percy, just as long as you get it. Audrey has parents in Scotland, so it won't kill you if you just stop there for a while. You should visit the in-laws and meanwhile get me the newspaper. No, Percy, please, just do it, I have to go now. Bye!"

Harry stared at her, bewildered, as she got up from her knees and dusted off her shoulders. Then she spotted him and her face lit up as she flung herself into her arms. Not feeling as enthusiastic, somehow dreading what was coming, Harry hugged her half-heartedly and pulled away, giving her a questioning look.

"What's all this about?"

"You won't believe what happened to me today!" she exclaimed, leading him back into the living room, where they both sat down on the sofa. Harry glanced back at all the papers, Hermione's wand particularly catching his eye, the sight quite unsettling for him. "I was walking from Diagon Alley when this young man bumped into me."

"Young man, huh?" Harry asked, playfully raising his eyebrows, dreadfully wishing to postpone Ginny's next words.

"Never mind him, though," Ginny replied without a thought, that old, fervent glint in her eyes once more. "As he gathered his things from the ground I helped him and took a newspaper in my hands. Harry, there was something about a car accident and a man was on the front picture. And I am sure it was Ron, the resemblance was uncanny and-"

Ginny's voice trailed off as Harry stood up suddenly, taking a step back.

"Ginny, please, don't. It wasn't Ron."

It was almost ridiculously comical how these encounters always went the same. Standing up from the sofa, Ginny placed her hands on her hips and stared at Harry pointedly.

"And why not? You didn't see the picture, you didn't see the resemblance!" she retaliated angrily, edging closer to him. "Why do you have to sweep the very idea off the table without even considering it?"

"Because Ron is gone!" he spat savagely, taking Ginny by surprise, his own heart breaking with the parting words. His eyes involuntarily overflowed as he grabbed her by the shoulders, wanting to shake that foolishness out of her so she would stop tormenting him with her ludicrous ideas. "Ron is gone and so is Hermione. You were there! You've seen the blood, it was their blood, the Healer's test proved it. And there was also Ron's broken wand, the one your parents have at home! And we did search for them! With all possible ways Muggle and magic! You remember what your father said."

Watching him with her eyes wide, tears trickling down her cheeks, Ginny remembered those words well but didn't dare to speak them as the image of the fallen, pale face of her father came to memory.

"A wizard's broken wand at such a scene can only mean one thing!" he bellowed. "That's what he said and I didn't believe him! How dare you accuse me of not trying to find them? I just-"

But he didn't finish, for suddenly Ginny broke free from his grasp, taking a step back, her face contorted with fury as loose strands of her hair fell out of her bun.

"Because it just wasn't enough!" she screamed back at him. "Who is this man standing before me? Where is the fighter in you, Harry? You are not the man I love, the man I adore and look up to! Harry wouldn't give up so easily. Come to think about it, Harry would _never_ give up! They were your best friends, your family, the first people ever to love you! They were with you in times everyone else was gone and now, when they might be lost and needing our help, you go on pretending they're dead."

She dared to take a reckless step toward him as his eyes blazed with unimaginable heartache and fury. "You want to believe it," she said in a rough voice. "Because you are so afraid that if you allow yourself to hope, it still might crumble!"

Ginny had yelled herself hoarse, her face flushed from anger and frustration. Before storming into the bedroom and slamming the door, she threw a disappointed and broken glance at Harry.

Hardly flinching throughout the entire process, Harry remained standing there in the middle of the living room desolately, knowing every single word Ginny uttered was justified.

Wiping his tears furiously, he threw himself onto the sofa suddenly, boring his head into his hands.

The battle issuing inside of him was exhausting and suddenly every inch within his body ached as he remembered their faces, their smiles and laughter. Life without them was so sad and difficult, void of all the good things about his past. Living with that knowledge was hard enough, but in the end, he had Ginny. His wonderful Ginny who filled up the aching lack of his past with her promising future. And now she resented him for denying his best friends. But how dare she? He would never deny them; it would be one of the last things he would ever do.

But after all the fighting and all the battles, all the lives lost and energy wasted, Harry just wanted to be, simple in his own existence that was no longer threatened but allowed him to live and embark on the journey called life. Everything started off so perfect.

Until they disappeared. Without a trace, like from a ridiculous children's story. And he searched, he searched more than everyone else, he searched even when they held him back and gave up on their own. But one day it had to come to an end and the realization that they were, in fact, gone. At first Ginny understood, and they managed to move on very slowly, filling up the empty spaces with their love. Out of the blue she started with all this, and he tolerated it at first, but she delved deeper and deeper, pestering him and passing him those glances of contempt when he didn't join in. Why did their days have to bear this sadness all the time? Why did she have to remind him? Why could he not take it? Or, most importantly, why could he not have saved them so none of them would have to go through this?

Looking up, his eyes red, Harry wiped his face with his hands and stood up shakily. He could hear Ginny sobbing softly from behind the door, so he slowly set out toward it. Hesitantly brushing his hand over the doorknob and opening the door, he suddenly hated himself as he saw Ginny sprawled on their bed, clutching at a pillow and crying.

Without thinking Harry approached her and lay down behind her, winding an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Snuggling close to him, Ginny turned around and looked at him with those wide chocolate eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Kissing her on the forehead, Harry didn't say anything. "I know that sometimes I go over the top," she went on, sniffing, "and I really don't want to kindle false hope, but sometimes I just have this feeling they're out there. I'm afraid of failing them, but I in no way wanted to accuse you of failing them. I know you didn't, I know you wouldn't, but please, Harry…don't doubt me. I may be wrong for all I know, and so let's just leave it…but as long as I don't lose that _feeling_ , I can't stop."

Ginny continually fascinated him in new ways. Staring at her avidly, his eyes taking in every detail, Harry cupped her face and again realized all the reasons for which he loved her. He loved her strength, her determination, her devotion, but most of all he loved that she loved him.

"I'm sorry for being weak," he said in a whisper, but Ginny furrowed her eyebrows and reached out a hand to touch his cheek.

"Even heroes have their weaknesses," she said softly, leaning forward and kissing him.

Smiling through all the pain, Harry hugged her and into her hair he said, "Marry me, Ginny."

Ginny planted a gentle kiss on Harry's neck. "Okay."

* * *

For the last two days Jean thought of nothing else but him. She was beginning to feel ridiculous for her lack of self-control. While at work, she avoided his ward but tried to dig up some new information, finding nothing. Growing frustrated and astonishingly curious, she almost went straight to him, but upon finding out he was being released the same day, she took it as the final sign to avoid him.

That same night she went out to do some shopping for dinner, only to be drawn to take a new route home from the market. As if by magic, she suddenly spotted him walking before her, his back turned to her, his shoulders slumped. She knew instantly that it was him for the slight limp in his walk from the injury and the blazing red hair shining under the light of the streetlamps.

She didn't even consider turning away and ignoring him for the rest of her life this time, setting out straight after him, almost reaching his shadow when he turned abruptly, coming face to face with her.

Jean didn't know what power made her keep the firm hold on the paper shopping bags in her arms. Her entire body went rigid, every cell in her body seeming to freeze. The streetlamp above her head was flickering, the light flashing on and off, and even though it was spring, there was a slight chill in the air that didn't reach her skin. Her face feeling hot, Jean noticed a bench nearby, so she tore her eyes away from him and walked over to it, setting the bags down with a sigh. Jean stood there, her head down and mind racing, breathing deeply.

She heard footsteps getting closer, so she looked up and saw him walking to her with an irritating hesitance, his eyes shining with a touching curiosity, wonder and confusion.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Jean put up her hand to silence him.

"Are you stalking me?" she blurted out, her face contorting with anger.

Gawking at her for a moment, he was at a loss for words. "What? No!" he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair and looking around wildly. "I was just…walking here. They released me from the hospital today. To tell the truth, I was-" He stopped in mid-sentence, and Jean raised her eyebrows.

"You were…?"

Crossing her arms at her chest, Jean stared at him severely, wishing he wouldn't look through the defenses she had put up. Because truly, she didn't feel at all like the bossy, mean person she was sounding like… but she was suddenly terrified as never before. And, what scared her even more, she _wanted_ to meet and talk to him. But it was a mistake, she shouldn't have, and now she wished she would be rather home alone, safe and warm.

Sighing in resignation, he looked at her boldly, never faltering under her stern gaze. "I _was_ looking for you."

Jean would expect to be more shocked by this revelation, but her heart slowed down to a comfortable, almost soothing pace.

"All over the hospital," he continued. "I wanted to talk to you, about what happened. I told you," he said, stepping closer, placing his arms on her shoulders, though neither of them were aware of his action. "You said I said your name in my sleep."

"Not _my_ name," Jean corrected him.

"Well are you sure? Why did it startle you so much then?"

Jean tried quickly to think of some lie, but couldn't.

"I don't know where the name came from, but it's been haunting my dreams for a long time. I don't know who Hermione is, though, but I feel very close to whoever she might be. I've also always had this…" She showed him the locket with the name in it.

Ron gave her a meaningful look, as if that was a confirmation of this mystery.

"Hermione is not a common name," Ron mused, "Come to think of it, I've never heard it before. Which makes it really strange that I'd just say it in my sleep. I told you that I don't know anything about myself. It's strange, I have…memories I guess. Very little of them, and they're never clear, and feel so unfamiliar as if they didn't belong to me at all. Despite leading a comfortable, peaceful life, I am not happy, because something is wrong and I know it. But when I woke up and saw you there, for the first time in years or perhaps even in that life of mine I never recognized, for the first time I felt real."

His words made the surrounding world disappear. Shaken, Jean kept looking into his eyes - those tantalizing eyes that made her feel guilty considering it was only a few days ago that she had broken up with Jonathan. She had never been too fond of long and intense eye-contacts, whether with Jonathan or during the brief flirtations she'd had. This time it was different, yet again, because she didn't want to look away.

He did.

Dejectedly sitting down on the bench beside her shopping bags, he rested his elbows on his legs, supporting his head with his hands.

Unsure of what to do, Jean shut her eyes momentarily. Then a strange thing happened. Feeling the fresh breeze on her face, Jean opened her eyes and somehow saw the world in a new light. Suddenly she decided to go along spontaneously, not thinking over every single step she took.

Sitting down beside him, the paper bags crumpling as she did, Jean put her hands together and searched for proper words to fit the situation.

Ron looked up, startled by her sitting so close to him. For a moment Jean thought he would jump up and run away, but he didn't.

Chuckling nervously, he gave her an apologetic look. "Oh, I know I sound like a maniac and-"

Jean shook her head and bit her lip.

"I feel just the same."

Giving her a questioning look, Ron shifted in his seat and waited for her to continue.

Averting her gaze, Jean smiled a sad, nervous smile. "It's so unbelievable that I met you and feel like this, just like you described it. Isn't it strange? It seems to me that up until this point I've been leading two separate lives. One is my childhood and adolescence, one that I can remember only hazily and distantly, as if it was only a story told to me, and I pictured the rest, the images never providing the real thing. And then there is this life here. Where I'm training to be a doctor, live a good, comfortable life with a man I've promised to marry. I never understood why there was the rupture between these two phases of my life. Nothing of big significance happened to me that would make me detach from a life so simple and seemingly nice."

Her voice quivered for a second. "While all this seems very scary," she added, lifting her eyes again, only to find him looking at her intently, "I want to know more about myself. I want to know precisely how I got here and where are all those people from childhood that I feel nothing toward. And you're here, making me feel that my past and life are worth living for this moment. As peculiar and impossible as it may seem, I believe we knew each other once. Maybe we've been connected in a way. You know, maybe we were friends or acquaintances."

Jean was surprised by her words. She had never spoken so outlandishly yet honestly at the same time. Knowing it wasn't possible to explain thoroughly, she hoped he would understand. After all, it was his determination that drove her to her sudden decision.

Leaning back against the bench, he tilted his head to the side, considering her closely. Jean felt extremely shivery and nervous under his gaze. "Is something like this normal, though? You're a doctor, you could know. Because sometimes I feel as if I just lost my memory, but I haven't. There are memories, there is a past I'm aware of, it's just-"

"Not it," Jean finished for him quietly. Removing a strand of her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, Jean furrowed her eyebrows. "I don't know that much about psychology. The only thing I gathered is that there had to be something big in order for you to grow so distant with your past. And that is exactly the thing that's bothering me. I have never suffered, or I can't remember it. I have never gone through something horrible that would make me want to unconsciously forget everything, moving it to the back of my mind. Did you?"

He shook his head. "No."

Nodding slowly, Jean leaned back as well, allowing her body to relax, though the muscles in her face remained tight from all the thinking and mulling.

"I have to find out," she said suddenly, breaking the silence. "And when we want to know something, we should never stop searching for the answer." Biting on her bottom lip again, Jean straightened up. "I don't know how we'll do this, but if you agree, let's…" Her voice went hoarse. "Let's search. There has to be an explanation. There has to be an answer to this. I refuse to leave it like this. I've been avoiding getting deeper and looking further for years, but now," she looked at him, and realized he never took his eyes off her the entire time she was talking, "now I feel is the time."

It scared her - these impulsive, wild decisions of heart. Never before had she considered matters of the heart much; the mind was, after all, so much stronger and more sensible. Perhaps it was his presence that made her break rules she'd set for herself. And it well and truly scared her, but on the other hand, it made her feel bizarrely free and natural – sensations her life lacked.

The man that had turned her life upside down within seconds remained silent. It didn't look like he was thinking over his decision, more like doing his best to understand at least a little portion of this entire chaos.

"I say we do it," he replied finally. "And we can start first thing tomorrow."

Everything within her igniting, Jean almost dared to smile.

He smiled, extending his hand. "I'm Ron. I mean, at least I think I am."

Jean smiled and took his hand. His touch made soft pink spots appear on her cheeks. "Jean Granger."

"Or are you?" he added jokingly, and even though it wouldn't be nearly as funny if he were right, they both laughed despite themselves.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you for reading. Hermione...ahem, Jean and Ron are finally a team again! This is predominantly a Ron/Hermione story of course, but I like adding the Harry/Ginny bits in since I love their characters as well, tell me what you think :) This story is being slightly rewritten from when I wrote it the first time, so your opinion would be very much appreciated. Please review!


	5. Chelsea

**Memory Dust**

Chapter 5: Chelsea

"How come you don't remember?" Jean asked sardonically. "Surely everyone must know how and when they got to the place they are at now."

Crossing his arms at his chest, Ron stood up from the bench. "Very well then, why won't you tell me _how_ and _when_ and _from where_ you got to your current flat, work and everything?"

Jean opened her mouth to say something straight away, but as she thought about what she was about to say, she halted. Furrowing her eyebrows, Jean leaned forward.

"Well?" Ron interrupted her thoughts.

Glancing up at him nervously, the same pink tinge appearing on her cheeks, Jean smiled apologetically. "Actually, I don't remember either."

Ron didn't bother to hide his look of smugness, but Jean didn't notice as she stood up abruptly.

"But...I lived in a small village in Scotland, though my co-workers always kind of teased me about my Yorkshire accent. But I've never been to Yorkshire as far as I can remember."

Ron raised his eyebrows at her knowingly.

"What should we do then?" she asked, turning to him.

All images of knowledge gone from his face, Ron stared at Jean blankly. He furrowed his eyebrows and screwed up his face in concentration.

"Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?" he blurted out without meaning to. Jean gave him a quizzical look, unsure whether to feel offended or amused. Ron looked abashed. "Sorry, I don't know why I said that," he mumbled.

Jean nodded to accept his apology, but looked slightly smug after hearing those words.

"Um, do we visit the landlord?" That was the only thing he could come up with, yet right after he had said it he felt ridiculous for mentioning something so pointless.

"It's worth a try," Jean muttered, rubbing her chin with her fingers and obviously deep in thought.

"No it's not," Ron said.

"You just suggested it," she replied, giving him an exasperated look.

"It was just a stupid thought. How would he know where we come from? Usually he only takes the money, makes the given arrangements and is done with it. My landlord does nothing all day except watch television and munch on crackers. He wouldn't give a damn if a bomb exploded right above his head. As long as his money is being delivered every month, all is well."

"Well, a landlady from my old place was very nosy," Jean said. "Of all the inquisitive women in the world, she's the worst. The flat is only a few streets away from here. You never know; we might just find out a little clue."

Shrugging, Ron put his hands into his pockets and nodded. "Okay then."

Jean nodded back fervently and lunged for her grocery bags enthusiastically. There was nothing more alluring than the feel of something close to being discovered. Staggering slightly under the weight of her bags, her arms suddenly felt lighter as Ron took one bag into his own arms. Jean gave him a very odd look, surprised by the gesture; he didn't look like a gentleman. Ron looked just as surprised, though, clearly not used to helping women with their bags. The tips of his ears went red and he turned to walk away, just to end the strange moment.

Jean hurried to catch up with him, unaware of the small hint of a smile appearing at the corner of her lips. She led the way, knowing the direction to her old place by heart. They were quiet, only the speeding cars and life bustling around them found their way to partially break up the silence. Their silence, however, was one that brought calm in between their confused minds. And when they didn't try to think about everything too much, they could find out they're almost at peace. Had they not been trying to actually question everything about the two of them, perhaps this walk would be an ordinary part of the day.

They reached a tall Victorian building a few moments later. It looked old and quite unstable; some of the windows were dusty and cracked, but others looked normal. He wondered if the inside of the building was as ancient and dilapidated as the exterior.

"You lived here?" Ron asked with raised eyebrows.

"I did. Why the surprise?"

Shrugging, Ron approached the stairs of the building without words. Jean knew what he meant. The shabby place was in great contrast to her current life so full of neatness and splendor. But as far as she could remember, she had nothing against shabby. On more than one occasion this place felt more like home than the urbane flat she shared with Jonathan ever had.

In front of the entrance door, Ron offered to take even the second bag. Handing it to him, Jean then opened the door and held it open for Ron to get in.

"Mrs. Finley lives just in this flat down the hall," she said as she led the way. Stopping in front of a door decorated with flowers, she knocked softly. They both heard the loud noise of the television being turned down and someone shuffling toward the door. As it opened, a middle-aged woman stood in the doorway, bespectacled by thick horn-rimmed glasses. Her hairstyle seemed to be suspended in time, for it was a mass of hard curls that formed a perfect helmet-shaped sphere around her head. She had a long nose and hard features. Upon seeing Ron and Jean, though, she smiled broadly.

"Ah, you're Miss Granger if I remember well. What brings you here?" she asked eagerly, eyeing Ron with particular interest. Without waiting for a reply, she went on in an animated voice. "Fancy life turning out too boring for you, eh? Want to come back to the real and gritty world? And with another man, though? So things with Mr. Doctor didn't work out? I never really liked him to tell the truth."

Running a hand through her curly hair, Jean pursed her lips and cast a sideways glance at Ron who seemed to be caught somewhere between embarrassment and laughter.

"Mrs. Finley, I need to ask you something. Do you remember how I came here? To this flat?"

Mrs. Finley's eyebrows disappeared into her mane of a fringe as she crossed her arms at her chest.

"How you came here? That is an odd question. Well, your sister and her husband made the arrangements. You moved in within the next few days, of course."

"A sister?" Jean asked keenly, her eyes widening. "What…what did she look like?"

Furrowing her eyebrows, it was apparent Mrs. Finley had to search her wide memory. After all, she had witnessed far too many people passing under her windows and past her door.

"You didn't look too much alike. She was tall and slim, had dark hair and…I don't really know. She wasn't too friendly. I made a cup of tea for both of them, wouldn't even touch it. Luckily you turned out to have better manners. Anyway, I didn't really have space in the house at that time, but they…"

Suddenly the look on Mrs. Finley's face glazed over, as if she was trying to remember something really hard but couldn't. "They…they changed my mind." Jean and Ron noticed how the woman trembled oddly at the thought of it. Shaking her head, Mrs. Finley resumed her story, "One of the tenants was being tardy with his rent anyway, so I sent him packing, and good riddance!"

"What about her husband?" Ron asked. Mrs. Finley eyed Ron questioningly, but her desire to divulge information seemed to overpower her.

"Ah well, he was a very handsome young man indeed. Dark skinned, very exotic. And those white teeth, oh my, not even my new teeth can shine as much. He had much more class than his lady, I have to say," she added haughtily, crossing her arms over her chest.

Jean's mind was racing. She never had a sister and these people the woman talked about didn't ring a bell at all.

"Miss Granger, may I ask why are you asking me this? Surely you must know what your family looks like," Mrs. Finley said with a sweet smile, though her beady eyes watched Jean suspiciously.

"Erm, the thing is, I haven't talked to them much ever since they rented this flat for me. Our family has a lot of issues and sometimes it's hard working them out. I was just wondering if you remember where they came from when they were here."

Mrs. Finley clapped her hands together as if all was clear now. "Doesn't surprise me that such a lovely lady like yourself might have trouble making things work with a rude woman like that, family ties aside. I have a cousin who is just the same, she never-"

"Sorry, Mrs. Finley," interrupted Jean quietly, "but have they left any information about them behind? Did they sign any kind of documents?"

Mrs. Finley looked momentarily affronted for being interrupted and put on a much colder demeanor. "I am sorry, but I have no idea," she said, and Jean's face fell immediately. "All documents were drawn in your name, as surely you must know. All I can tell you is that the first rent was paid by them. They sent it in a letter. It had a London postage stamp is all I remember. I threw the letter away because I have far too many papers piling on my desk. You know, it's not as easy to be a landlady these days with all the irresponsible people. Can you even imagine how many never pay on time?"

But Jean wasn't listening anymore; she was looking at Ron. He smiled at her from behind the grocery bags, knowing that their way here was a bit successful after all.

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Finley. I appreciate your help. Goodbye."

Turning around, Jean ushered Ron out of the building before the woman had the opportunity to go into any more ranting.

"Well, London it is," Jean said as they descended the stairs. "I don't remember anything about London, though. Do you?" she asked, turning around so abruptly her foot slid down the stair.

Just as she was about to fall, Ron instinctively dropped both bags and grabbed her by her hands, pulling her back up. Looking down, Jean gasped as she saw the bags almost hovering in midair, a few inches above the ground. Shutting her eyes and opening them up again, the bags were on the bottom stair, well and full. Nothing had gone rolling out.

Shaking her head, Jean looked at Ron to find him staring at her. He didn't seem to notice the bags at all.

"Are you alright?" he asked, letting go of her hands and stepping down the last few stairs to pick up the bags.

"Of course," she replied, quite shaken from everything that had just occurred. Things were getting even more strange and far beyond her senses to comprehend. The feeling was very unsettling. Taking the bags from him, Jean avoided his eyes.

"I better get home and straighten things out about the vacation. When can we leave for London?" The mere sound of the words as they escaped her mouth sounded crazy, but the feel of them filled her up with excitement.

"I'll take a few days off of work and we can leave sometime in the evening."

"Great."

For a few more seconds they kept looking at each other, but as the moment stretched on and grew to be quite inappropriate, Jean thought, she smiled politely, waved him goodbye and walked off into the direction of her new home, away from the shabby place, and away from Ron. But she would see him very soon again. That seemed to liven up her step.

* * *

As Ron entered the small building in which he lived, he still wore that goofy kind of smile he couldn't quite decipher. He felt the lingering grin on his face filled him up with happiness and never before experienced excitement.

Climbing the stairs one by one, he fished the keys out of his pocket and vaguely wondered how much damage had been done to his plants during his absence of few days.

Finally stepping on his landing, he looked up and halted as he saw a small figure sitting on his doorstep.

"Chelsea?"

The girl looked up, her brown eyes sparkling with tears. Upon seeing Ron, she shot from the ground with surprising speed, only to throw her arms around his neck and sob into his shoulder.

Flabbergasted a bit, Ron patted her on the shoulder awkwardly.

Chelsea pulled back and her look of relief and joy had been replaced by one of fury. Smacking him into the shoulder, she took a step back and eyed him angrily.

"Ron, you are a humongous prat! Four days...four days. You've been gone for four bloody days and we didn't know anything! I waited for you to come and take me to the cinema for three hours. I was livid you didn't show up, but then Ben told me you had an accident and that you were injured. We didn't even know to which hospital they took you, so we searched and when we finally found you this afternoon, we only found out you were already released, but you didn't bother..." Smacking herself on her forehead as if to show him how thoughtless he was, Chelsea placed her hands on her hips and took in a breath. "You didn't even bother to call, to let anyone of us know whether you're alive and all right."

Gaping at her open-mouthed, Ron resembled a goldfish out of water, only to realize that indeed he could've at least let Chelsea and his other friends know how he was. He was so caught up with thinking of Jean that he absolutely forgot about the people in his life; it seemed strange, but when there was Jean, the others didn't seem half as real.

"Chelsea, I'm... really sorry. Come inside and have a cup of tea," he said after a while, unlocking his door and placing an arm around Chelsea's shoulder as she began sniffling again.

"Tea is your solution for everything, isn't it? I apologise for yelling at you," she said quietly as he led her in. "But I was really... worried."

Ron couldn't help himself, and he gave her a warm smile. "That's okay. I deserved it for being such a careless git."

"So, what happened?" Chelsea asked as she sat down on his vacant sofa in the living room while Ron fumbled with teapots and cups in the kitchen that was separated from the living room by only a counter.

Shrugging his shoulders, Ron scratched his head. "I was walking down the street, so oblivious that I didn't notice a car speeding along the way. Then I woke up in the hospital and…" Ron's voice trailed off at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time. He felt he shouldn't continue. "Then I found out what happened, spent hours on end in that dreadful place wondering what an idiot I am, and today I finally got home."

It took a few moments for the tea to be done. Chelsea watched Ron from her spot, grinning as he got burned by touching the teapot, shrieking and sucking on his burned finger, meanwhile cursing everything that came to his mind. She felt… happy upon seeing him again, relieved even. When he was gone, she had the oddest feeling that he might never return again. And her anger was only there to cover up for the worry mingled with her affections toward him.

Ron carried the tea to where Chelsea sat, sitting down next to her.

"Are you all right then? No brain damage?"

"None at all. Other than what was there to begin with, I reckon," he added with a smile, trying to cheer her up.

Chuckling, Chelsea sipped her tea and avoided looking at him for just one second.

"You got run over by a speeding car and nothing has happened? You must be a miraculous child then."

Nodding, Ron grinned. "Yeah, of that I've always been convinced."

After that Chelsea questioned him more about the possible future rehabilitations he would have to undergo and whether he had met anyone interesting at the hospital. Ron merrily went on telling the tale of the haughty receptionist, entertaining Chelsea with the edited version until they drank all their tea.

"I better get going," Chelsea said as she was standing up, taking hers and Ron's cup and carrying them over to his sink.

"I'll wash them, don't bother," Ron said hastily as she was about to turn the water on. Smiling sheepishly, Chelsea grabbed her jacket. "I probably won't be going to sleep straight away. I have to pack anyway. I'll come to work tomorrow and take a couple of days off probably." Chelsea gave him a questioning look. "Err... I'm going to London."

"London? Why would you ever want to go to London?"

Placing the large trunk on his bed, Ron looked up at her and considered his possible answers. For a moment he felt like telling her; she was a friend, after all.

"I'm going to visit family."

There were some things even closest friends didn't need to know. "I'll explain later," he added as Chelsea opened her mouth to question him more. There were enough questions for the day. They gave him a headache already.

Chelsea nodded, pursing her lips slightly. If there was one thing she didn't want, it was to pressure him.

Ron walked her to the door. Leaning with his arm against the doorframe, he gazed down at Chelsea.

"Sorry again Chels, I didn't want to scare you or anything."

Chelsea avoided his eyes, muttering a soft 'that's okay'. She seemed to be fighting against something, but Ron was too tired to notice anyway.

"Bye then," he said, stifling a yawn.

Nodding her head, Chelsea stepped out of his flat and neared the staircase. Suddenly she spun around and ran back to Ron, placing a kiss on his lips so sudden and surprising Ron just stood in his doorway, incapable of any reaction. As Chelsea deepened the kiss, Ron came to his senses and regained the feeling of his body. Reaching his hands into her hair clumsily, he kissed her back, only because he didn't have the slightest idea what else he could do.

Chelsea pulled back, ending the kiss with a soft peck on his lips.

"Let me know when you come back," she said quietly, though boldly, her hands on Ron's chest.

"Erm, yeah, okay," he whispered hoarsely, brushing his nose against her hair.

Glancing up at him apologetically though much happier, the sparks in her eyes dancing; Chelsea smiled and finally left, her footsteps echoing in the hallway.

Ron stared after her for a few minutes, his mind completely blank. He felt both happy and dejected, as he closed the door and walked into his bedroom, slouching down into his bed, so tired he didn't even bother to undress.

He had planned that moment for a long time, and it was just as perfect and lovely as he wanted it to be. It only felt a bit wrong, failing to complete him, and that was his last thought before falling asleep, dreaming of flying brooms and strange smelly turbans.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you so much for reading. We have a beginning of sorts, or at least a direction.


	6. Distance

**Memory Dust**

Chapter 6 - Distance

The glow on the horizon was stronger by the minute as Jean lay awake in bed that morning, sleep evading her for a few hours now.

Despite appearing calm, resting in between the crumpled sheets, Jean was restless and her thoughts a never-ending whirl of fogged memories, questions and weird associations. She thought again about the phone call she had with Sheila yesterday, about taking time off work. It seemed highly irresponsible to just leave her job out of nowhere like that, but the urgency that she felt about this whole new development was stronger than anything else. .

Neither of them knew whether the direction they were heading was the right one, whether it wasn't just a very misleading clue, but she didn't care. The mere possibility of digging deeper into the truth filled her with energy and enthusiasm unlike she had ever experienced.

And there was also Ronald. Closing her eyes and turning over restlessly, Jean noticed she thought of him far too often. Was it really so inevitable?

Well, of course it is, she thought, placing her arm over her eyes. His appearance was, after all, what triggered all this slow discovery of where she came from and who she really was. Even though Jean usually avoided going on instinct alone, this time she both felt and knew she was on the right track.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she decided it was finally time to get up. There was a lot to do. That meant packing, getting tickets, meeting Ron and leaving off toward London. She couldn't help but grin widely as she felt the flighty feeling of adventure again, after what seemed like a very long time.

* * *

Once they were both sitting in the compartment, the city slowly getting lost in the distance, the air seemed to be heavy. After exchanging polite greetings on the station and boarding the train clumsily, it seemed they didn't know what to do next.

Stealing strange glances at one another, it was difficult to just start speaking. It was the most peculiar train ride, and the silence was growing uncomfortable. Some silences feel okay, but between them, silence felt unnatural. The air seemed to beg for a friendly chatter or a lively quarrel, anything but this silence that only made them feel more detached and doubting of what they were doing.

"So," Ron started, daring to be the first one to break the quiet. Trying to look cool and relaxed, Jean noticed the tips of his ears betrayed him once again. "Was there anyone you had to explain this situation? I mean, leaving all of a sudden?"

Jean was about to respond a 'no'. Who would she ever tell? She warily sensed a hint behind that question, however. Was he asking her whether she had a boyfriend? That thought both flattered and unsettled her.

"He took it well. Jonathan, I mean. He's my boyfriend," Jean said calmly, straightening out her skirt. She couldn't explain to herself why she had lied. It just felt safer this way.

Knitting his eyebrows close together, giving off a very inquisitive impression, Ron crossed his arms. "Is it…I mean, serious?"

Raising her eyebrows and smiling slightly, Jean was caught a bit off guard by the question. "I guess," was all she could muster. Looking away from him pathetically, she cursed herself for being so damn silly in his presence.

"Oh, right," said Ron, looking out the window, a slight frown settling over his face. That little observation seemed to dampen even Jean's spirits unexpectedly. She now regretted telling him about it, it just didn't seem right, even if he had no right to know anything about her pivacy.

"How about you? Won't you be missed by a girlfriend?" she asked after a while, her curiosity overpowering her manners. Ron's eyes settled back on her as he scratched the back of his head. He wondered what to say. If Ron were to tell the truth, he would say there was Chelsea, but he could hardly think about her because the woman riding the train with him occupied most of his thoughts. But perhaps that wouldn't be the best option. Yet what was Chelsea, after all? Was she his girlfriend?

"I guess," he replied simply, staring back at Jean who smiled vaguely in return, though her lips appeared to be a little bit more pressed than what was usual.

"Oh, that's nice, then," she said and turned away from him, pretending to be looking for something in her bag. When she heard him take out a magazine and start flipping through it, Jean looked out the window and hoped she hadn't looked as ridiculous as she had felt.

Pressing her head against the glass, she felt very hollow all of a sudden. Questions…they needed to be asked. But sometimes it was so hard to ask them. She didn't even know what to ask. Yet she hadn't failed to go and ask something as pointless and stupid as whether he had a girlfriend or not.

Her feeling of hollowness was replaced by abrupt irritation. But why was she irritated? Surely Ron had a right to have a girlfriend, good for him! And still it just didn't feel right.

Jean yawned and decided to take a short nap. The lack of sleep was getting to her.

* * *

Jerking awake, Jean sat up and blinked a few times.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked, leaning forward to look more closely at her.

"Yes, everything's fine," she replied. "I just had this sort of half-dream... I was drifting from sleep and back and I suddenly just thought of…a boy."

"A boy?" Ron asked with a puzzled look. "You thought of a boy. And?"

Shaking her head, Jean furrowed her eyebrows and scratched her chin. "No, it was not as random. He felt familiar, so very familiar, yet I know I never met him. It was just like with you," she added, looking at Ron deeply.

"What did he look like?" he asked with interest.

"I don't know…he looked young, eleven or twelve, black hair, glasses, sort of skinny and strange."

Thinking hard, Ron shook his head after a moment. "It doesn't ring a bell."

"Not at all?"

"Nope." Leaning back into his seat, Ron went back to flipping through the magazine, looking as unbothered as ever. Jean watched him for a second. Her mind, though, remained glued to the blurred face of the boy. She felt the sudden urge to reach out to him and protect him: that's why it had unsettled her so much. Just like with Ron, here was a person that obviously had no part in her life, but as she saw him, only indistinctly in her mind, he made her feel something.

"Ronald, don't you think this might be important?" Jean spoke up again, ignoring Ron's impatient click of his tongue as he looked up from his magazine.

"Actually, I don't really understand these mind things. You think it's someone real?"

"I'm sure of it," she said resolutely, crossing her arms and staring out the window, thinking hard.

Hours went by and the further they were from Edinburgh, the more detached both of them felt from all that held them back. As Ron's thoughts still centered around Chelsea and her kiss, the closer he was to London, the more blurred her face appeared. For Jean, the distance from home made her feel less atrocious for lying to Jonathan.

With each crossed mile a new feeling seeped into them. It almost felt like they were returning to a place they'd once loved, after a long absence. That alone proved they weren't doing the wrong thing after all.

The train slowed down and finally stopped. Ron and Jean exited the compartment and joined the small crowd pushing their way toward the doors and out onto Platform Ten of King's Cross Station in London.

Finally off the train, Jean checked whether she hadn't forgotten anything and then looked at Ron.

"Ready?" she asked, but noticed Ron wasn't really listening to her. He was looking in some kind of a daze at the large sign with the number ten on it, glancing then on platform nine. "Ron?" she asked timidly, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder as an odd shiver ran down her spine. "What is it?"

Starting at her touch, Ron looked at her, sharpening his eyes as if he looked at her for the first time. "Um…nothing, it's nothing. Let's go," he said and walked on. Jean hurried to catch up with him, turning her head to look back between platforms nine and ten. Something strange had happened, she knew that, and she longed to stay between those two walls for just a little longer.

Walking through crowds of people, Ron could still hear faint, familiar whistling in his ears. He could still smell the engine smoke, even after they got out of the station and waited for a taxicab.

Jean and Ron went off to search for the nearest hotel. They hadn't really had a chance to see London entirely from the cab, as it took them only a short way, but the streets were full and both of them silently had their little doubts.

"This is perfect," Ron said sarcastically as they sat in the car. "I can clearly imagine us going from person to person asking, 'Hello, sorry to interrupt you, but do you, by any chance, recognize my face?'"

"Don't worry; I'm sure we'll figure something out."

"How do you know?"

"Because there is a solution to everything. Always," Jean replied strictly. "Let's get settled somewhere for the night and we'll deal with the rest later."

Soon they found a little hotel on Grover Street. The Langland Hotel was small and just enough for their needs, seeing as both didn't have all that much money to spend. They still didn't know how long they would need to stay.

Entering the Georgian-style building, Jean walked straight toward the receptionist while Ron stayed behind, still thinking back to the train station and all the emotions that had whirled inside of him at that moment. That place had seemed to remind him of so much, yet the old feeling of being unable to grasp it overcame him once again. And so he suspended the thoughts and joined Jean at the desk.

The receptionist was an older, balding man, looking as stuck-up and pompous as if he were the owner of a large, lavishly expensive hotel chain.

"That will be fifty pounds for one night. How long do you plan to stay?"

"Fifty?" Ron whispered under his breath, rolling his eyes and grudgingly taking out his wallet. "I said some random bed and breakfast would be better."

"Don't worry," Jean said with a smile, ignoring the unpleasant smirk of the receptionist headed Ron's way. "I can pay for it. It's been a good month and-"

"Absolutely not," Ron cut in hurriedly, feeling quite hot in the face all of a sudden. Jean bit her lip and scolded herself for making him feel uncomfortable.

 _I should've known_ , she said to herself, though why she should have known, she hadn't a clue.

"Will you want your luggage brought up?"

"Ah, sure!" Ron exclaimed joyfully, glad that he could provide that bit of comfort the hotel provided.

"I don't think that will be needed," Jean said pointedly. "It's nothing heavy, surely we can carry it ourselves!"

Letting out a sigh of exasperation, Ron picked up his rucksack and headed toward the stairs, muttering 'women' under his breath. Jean soon joined him at the bottom of the staircase.

"Oh come on, Ronald, stop looking so sullen. But back there…oh, wouldn't it be ridiculous if we asked the receptionist to carry our bags, when this is all we've got?"

"It would give him something to do at least. Look at him, sitting there, looking like…like ruddy Merlin or something. I say there's something very wrong with English personnel lately."

Snorting, Jean turned to Ron with a grin. "Sorry? Merlin?"

Scratching his head, Ron furrowed his eyebrows and stepped into the lift. "I…have no idea where that came from. This day keeps on being weirder and weirder."

"That may be a good thing," Jean said, smiling absently. "Maybe it's a sign we're to find out more about ourselves."

Reaching their landing, Jean unlocked the door to their hotel room. It was nicely furnished with two separate beds standing across from the large window. Opposite the beds was a small conference table with two puffy armchairs around it. The green wallpaper set a darker shade around the room, adding to the impersonal and stiff air the room carried.

Sitting down in one of the armchairs, Jean stretched her legs and was just about to stand up and take a shower when Ron said, "Well, finally! I'll just take a quick shower. God, I smell like a weasel out of water." Chuckling at his own joke, Ron entered the bathroom and closed the door. Jean smiled as she heard him still chuckling from inside.

Standing up, she made her way to the large window and opened it, letting fresh air in. Jean could not decipher how she felt. She was scared, being in such a big city with no specific destination. But on the other hand, she felt that a proper dose of research and a bit of luck could easily put them on the right track. She just hoped it wouldn't take too long. There was still Edinburgh and all that held her back.

Shaking her head, Jean laughed at herself. Of course her life and Jonathan weren't holding her back from anything. On the contrary, it would be so much better once she finally found all her missing pieces. At least she hoped so. One never knew just what the missing pieces might reveal. The truth could be scary, but however scary it might be, Jean thought, it wouldn't make her search for it any less.

The streets underneath her were still alive in the sunset when Ron joined Jean at the window, smelling of fresh soap. Shaking his head, the water from his hair drizzled all around, even at Jean.

"Oh, sorry about that. I might get a haircut, it's getting too long. Mum doesn't like it when it gets like this."

"Really?" Jean asked with interest, leaning onto the railing with her arms and cocking her head to get a full view of Ron's face.

"Yeah, I guess. I don't really know, actually. She died when I was little."

"How do you know then that she wouldn't like your hair getting long?"

Falling silent for a moment, Ron shrugged. "I can only take a guess. It's just a part of this whole messed-up business, I'm sure. And that's why we're here. To finally end it. You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to the day when everything will get cleared up." A wonderful smile spread across his face and Jean could only silently think that yes, she had an idea just how much he was looking forward to it. "Isn't it wicked to be in another city such as this with a complete stranger?" Ron laughed.

"Yes, it is. But it also feels good. You know, doing something out of the ordinary," Jean replied with sparks in her eyes, though they faded as she added, "I don't normally cross lines that I or others have set for myself, ever."

"This is, then, quite rebellious or even reckless of you. Why, I could be just some psychopath."

"So could I," Jean said, joining in his laughter. "But I think we both know something's up, we agreed on that already. And besides, I trust you."

Jean said these words without really meaning to, but once they were spoken, she didn't feel any need to take them back. Simply because it was the truth – she trusted this man.

Ron looked at her with a solemnity she hadn't realized he was capable of. It was nice, seeing him smile that way, with so much thanks in his eyes. Jean's stomach felt fuzzy all of a sudden, and she looked away. As if on cue, a man wearing a neat suit and carrying his black case crossed the street, reminding her so much of Jonathan her hands shook.

"I trust you too," she heard Ron say. Smiling briefly, Jean quickly turned away, took some clothes out of her bag and went to finally take her shower. Ron could only stare after her, his eyes cast on the door of the bathroom for moments to come.

The darkness came swiftly and by the time Jean came out of the bathroom, Ron was already in bed.

The room went silent as soon as the light went out. Breathing of the two figures was regular and calm, yet sleep evaded both. As all the hidden truths about the past and themselves hung in the air, both Ron and Jean felt desperately alone in their small beds. It seemed to hold so much more space, and while the other was only two steps away, the distance between them was overwhelming. It was a distance of confusion, of questions and doubts, of all they didn't know and had to find out.

Jean longed to turn the light on and talk to him. She almost felt she needed to, but the inconceivable fear kept her back. Ron wanted to raise his head to just look at her outline in the dark, for the briefest second, but he lay as still ever, his eyes wide open and mind painfully blank.

And so even though they found something missing in each other by the strangest of circumstances, the distance kept on gnawing at both their hearts. But sometimes it is the distance itself that makes people want to overcome it and get closer - as close as possible to all that the distance keeps away from them.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you so much for reading. It delights me when I see that every day someone reads this. i hope you like it. I would really love to hear what you think. Please please take a moment to review if you can. Thank youuuu!


	7. Walking in London

**Memory Dust**

Chapter 7 - Walking in London

Opening his eyes grudgingly, Ron looked around, squinting, and sat up slowly. It took him a few moments to realize where he was since his surroundings didn't look much like his shabby flat. Finally it hit him and instinctively he turned his head around. Jean was still sleeping with her hair sprawled all over her pillow, her breathing soft and regular.

Unable to take his eyes off of her, Ron wondered, being quite honest with himself, whether he had feelings for this woman. She definitely did strange things to him – making him feel things he had never felt before, things he longed to feel. It was starting to get harder and harder, though, telling the difference between what he should or should not be feeling.

Rubbing his eyes and sighing into the quiet morning, Ron slid out of bed and went to get himself a glass of water. He had promised to return, Chelsea was probably waiting for him patiently, maybe even lovingly. The kiss still resonated in his mind strongly, making him turn away from Jean the moment it entered his thoughts.

Chelsea was now the only thing still binding him to his life in Edinburgh. Living in that city for as long as he could remember, ever since graduating he couldn't remember having much of a life. There was his childhood and adolescence before, but it felt boring and insignificant whenever he thought of it. And then the same gap Jean spoke of between that phase of life and the present. As if one day he just woke up a different person living someone else's life. Living a lonely life, Ron always missed a family and close friends. Strangely, he never really had them. But that had never troubled him when he was younger, for he was an only child and so his life had always been devoid of large family gatherings and such. At the same time, he longed for it immensely.

Leaning against the door of the bathroom, Ron thought that he would give anything to discover something that would give meaning to his lackluster life. Glancing at Jean again, he wondered vaguely whether she wanted it as much as he did. Sure, there was the drive in her for discovering all that was hidden. That always managed to amuse him greatly, the way she pondered every little thing and was never satisfied with the given information unless it was complete.

But had she really been as hungry for a change? After all, she had a wonderful life and she seemed to enjoy it. Even if it was hard to admit, somewhere deep in his heart Ron wondered wildly whether she would become a part of his life eventually. The thought of finding something and then parting made him feel somewhat empty. He just wasn't sure whether things were set and done…would she stay?

* * *

Gone were the days when Diagon Alley was lacking life and people, its windows barred and shops closed. It was alive as ever with the tinkling of opening and closing doors ringing through the crowds of bustling people. The sun shone pleasantly, and people shopped and chattered.

All thanks to him - a simple man with black messy hair and very poor eyesight. Witches and wizards greeted him as they passed him while little children stared at him in awe, not yet understanding why they looked up to him. All this attention still made the man feel uneasy. He thought he'd never get used to it. Nonetheless, he acknowledged all the pleasant greetings with a smile and a bow of his head.

Glimpsing their faces and the world around him made Harry Potter sure that peace in the Wizarding World was finally settled.

The time of reconstructing the Wizarding Society was over what with the re-established and improved wizard cooperation and de-corrupted Ministry. It had taken a lot of effort and energy, but the results were finally blooming into shape and the balance in the world filled Harry with joy. That joy was only tarnished by the fact that two of his friends who had worked so hard for this achievement were gone.

Passing Flourish and Blotts, Harry remembered, upon spotting all the books, Hermione's unfinished folders at the Ministry about house-elf rights and her many essays on equality between all magical beings. A man passing him by dressed in violently orange robes sporting a picture of the Chudley Cannons reminded him of Ron and his undying support of the team that never failed to perform pathetically in the national league.

Ginny's ghosts were haunting him at every step. All her illusions and phantoms were viciously after him, because they were also his own. Sometimes Harry felt like a traitor for trying to move on, but hadn't he been the one to understand death and its rules?

But what if Ginny was right, what if they weren't dead?

Shaking his head, Harry smiled sadly to himself as he walked on toward the Leaky Cauldron. Ginny's determination and enthusiasm really was infectious, but in all honesty, it did him no good. Thankfully, she hadn't mentioned the subject again since their heated argument, and Harry was glad.

All the effort Ginny put into not bothering him with it made him love her even more. Although Harry had to admit to himself that from time to time he missed her endless reminiscing about Ron and Hermione.

Without realizing it, Harry reached the brick wall. People were passing through it, so he just slipped inside without having to take his wand out.

"Hey there, Mr. P!" the waitress called after him cheerily, batting her eyelashes and smiling a large smile.

Grinning back awkwardly, Harry's eyes immediately landed on a hunched man walking toward him. He was limping slightly, leaning on a stick. Looking up at Harry, the old man revealed a rather ugly face with warts of all shapes and sizes upon his nose. The look in his warm eyes, however, made up for this unprepossessing appearance.

"Hello, Mr. Potter, it's so very great to see you," he said and stuck out a hand for Harry to shake through his long white beard.

"And you too, sir."

"Just call me Ludwig," the older man said and smiled a toothless smile. "How is your friend George doing? Still having those weird dreams resulting in walking naked around Diagon Alley?"

Chuckling, Harry shook his head. "I have to say, after the sessions with you it is getting better. I saw him just a minute ago and he seemed as unabashed as ever."

"Of course, of course. He didn't look very troubled by that fact at all. Said there's nothing wrong with exposing one's privates if they look as lovely as his do. He was only disturbed by the dreams that made him feel exhausted."

"At least he's finally smiling. You know, it was problematic, getting him to not give up on the shop and life after losing…" Harry's voice trailed off as the sudden lump in his throat didn't let him speak those words.

Nodding slowly, understanding in his eyes, Ludwig smiled kindly. "Yes, the loss of another brother was tough for him. But with family and friends that stay close to him, it's not as difficult to move on. And besides, we all know that those who are gone are always very close, in a way."

Clapping him on the shoulder gently with his walking stick, Ludwig kept smiling and Harry felt thankful for this brief, but all the more deep chat in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron. And perhaps Ludwig Steiner was right. The departed are always close.  
The very notion made Harry's head spin for just a second as he thought of how Hermione and Ron might be very close that moment, maybe drinking coffee and waiting for him to join them for a late lunch. Automatically, he almost felt the need to turn his head around, expecting to see them smiling somewhere close.

Sighing, Harry looked at the little man and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Ludwig."

"Anytime, Mr. Potter, anytime. If ever there is another family member with psychological problems, you know where to find me. It'd be good for the business." He chuckled wholeheartedly.

"Sure, I'll remember that. Bye then."

Ludwig let Harry pass him by toward the exit.

Harry walked out of the pub almost deliberately without looking anywhere but in front of himself.

* * *

Feeling the warmth of the sun peering through the curtains and smelling something delicious in the air, Jean opened her eyes. Sitting up and stretching her back, she ran a hand through the tangle that was now her hair.

"'ood mo'nin'!"

Startled by the muffled sound, Jean's eyes darted to the small conference table set in the corner of the room. There was Ron, literally stuffing his face with bacon and toast at the same time, a tray full of food in front of him. Rolling her eyes, Jean noticed another tray was there as well. "'ow did you sleep?"

She got off the bed and sat opposite him. "I got you some breakfast as well, wasn't sure what you liked so I got everything."

Cracking a smile, Jean looked at the plate laden with food in front of her. Sure enough, Ron was so lively that morning he kept on talking and talking, with his mouth full, but Jean felt closer to laughter than actual irritation.

After they were done with breakfast, fully dressed and well-rested, Ron paced up and down the room, turning to Jean.

"Okay, so, we're in London. What do we do now?"

That seemed to be a very good question. Jean was looking at Ron deeply, her face fixed into a thoughtful frown. "I don't really see a way of finding my supposed sister and brother-in-law. The best start would be to check the public records. Maybe that way we will be able to find someone, some distant family. Perhaps they will know something. Or maybe we can find our own names."

"What if we don't? For all you know, we might've never been in London until now. Maybe only those two moved here after leaving you at your flat."

"I know. Still it's worth a try."

"Okay. I just wonder what will be the next thing we'll try if this fails…."

"I haven't figured that out yet, but there's always room for improvisation," Jean smiled nervously.

* * *

"I don't know what else we could do. I mean, we have no other information about the people that brought me to my flat. They might as well be dead or living in another city. No names similar to ours in the registry, absolutely no record. The City Hall has no records, nothing in the telephone books. This was a stupid idea. How could we come to London so empty-handed? Two days of searching and still nothing!" Jean exclaimed in a shrill voice, not bothered that she was bumping into people passing her on the street. "It seems to me as if our names were hidden _on purpose_!"

"Come on, Jean, we might try looking a bit more. I mean, something might just fall down into our laps. You know, appear out of nowhere," Ron replied, but he himself didn't believe this statement very much. He was wearing a cap over his red hair, fixing it so that it would shield his eyes from the bright sunlight.

"Things like this do not just find their way into our laps, Ron," she sighed. "Maybe we should visit the library, we haven't been there yet."

"What _for_? The library will have nothing more than what we already checked."

"That's not true," Jean said indignantly. "The library has old newspapers, we can search through those. You can always find something useful in the library."

"Always going to the library," Ron said, rolling his eyes in between. "That won't always give you an answer for everything."

"How do you know I always go to the library?"

Shrugging, Ron gave Jean a meaningful look. "I seem to just know it."

"Well then, I'm sure there will be something useful. Two days, but no matter, this takes time," she said, more to herself then to Ron, pacing steadily forward, holding her chin in her fingers thoughtfully. "We just have to remain patient, oh how I hate being patient in these things!"

"Okay, whatever you say. Let's forget this and eat something. I'm hungry."

"Again?" Jean asked and followed him down the street. After the heavy English breakfast, Ron had treated himself with a hamburger and a sandwich already.

Ron craned his neck to look for the nearest food place. Once he spotted something, he smiled to himself excitedly and headed toward a very shadowy looking pub. Jean thought that hadn't Ron pointed toward it, she wouldn't have noticed it at all.

Hunger does wonders, Jean thought to herself with a smile as she followed him inside.

"The Leaky Cauldron? What a funny name," Ron chuckled, pushing the door open with a loud creak. Jean felt an inexplicable rush of something within her, a momentary dizziness. Thinking it was probably because of all the walking in the heat through a busy city, she shrugged and followed Ron inside.


	8. As If By Magic

**Memory Dust**

Chapter 8 - As If By Magic

They appeared in a dark little hall that led to a large room. Expecting an empty and gloomy place, it surprised Ron and Jean to see the place so busy, with people bustling around, wearing funny clothes.

The place was quite old-fashioned, with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, candles burning in their sockets. The windows were covered with torn curtains and the walls were adorned with many pictures, newspaper clippings and notices. Had Jean not known better she would think it was a hide-out of some secret organization. Or it was, at least, a place for rather odd or bohemian folk. There was a woman dressed in heavy rags sitting in a far off corner, accompanied by two other women with their hair sticking out at odd angles, smoking pipes.

Raising his eyebrows at Jean, Ron shrugged and led the way to a small, rickety table in the opposite corner, sitting so that his back was turned to the rest of the room. Jean glanced around, and her jaw dropped open at spotting actual bats fluttering around the chandeliers.

"It seems there's some sort of very early Halloween party going on," she remarked as she sat down, a fascinated smile playing over her lips.

"I think it's cool, a place like this," Ron said, turning around and eyeing the place.

Few minutes later, a tall waitress walked up to them, wearing a skirt so short it attracted even Ron's look. Jean only rolled her eyes impatiently, crossing her arms. In addition to the short skirt, she also sported a huge blond hairstyle that looked as if it had been blown out of proportion.

"Anything I can get you?" asked the waitress and Jean gasped as a small snake crawled out of her giant hair and slithered to the other end of her blond locks. The waitress noticed Jean's horrified glance and laughed. "Don't you know? It's the new Slytherin fashion. Green is the new black."

Casting her eyes away from the woman, Jean rather fixed her eyes at the pictures adorning the walls on the other side of the pub. She must've been very tired, but the blurred pictures seemed to move. However, Jean's eyesight was quite poor due to all the reading she did, therefore she was used to seeing things far off dance a bit.

"One beer and…" Ron looked to Jean.

"I'll have a beer, too, thank you."

"So that makes it two…wait, do you mean butterbeers?" she asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

Snorting with laughter, Ron gawked at her. "Butterbeer? Is this how you call it here? Another part of your spooky day? Well, okay then, bring us a butterbeer!" he exclaimed cheerily and slapped his hand on the table. When the waitress left, muttering 'idiots' to herself, Ron turned back to Jean and sniggered at her.

"Ridiculous place."

Yeah, Jean thought, but as she was taking in her surroundings more and more, the place looked too ridiculous and weird. She had to look twice to make herself sure she actually saw a woman dressed like a witch, holding a broom, passing the pub. Lots of people seemed to come into the pub and just walk through it, through some door at the back of the room. And the other way around. Jean wondered whether there was a sort of gathering in the other room or perhaps it was just a passageway to some dodgy street.

"Hey, ginger!" Ron turned toward the bar and spotted the waitress holding two bottles. Just as she seemed to walk from behind the bar toward them, she just let go of the bottles and they kept on floating to their table. Ron's eyes widened as the bottles landed on the table with a clunk. Waving his head above them, he looked up to the ceiling to find a string or something to explain this occurrence.

Still watching the crowds passing to and fro, Jean gazed intently into each face. Little sparks of knowledge seemed to ignite within her every once in a while. Her skin tingled as she set eyes on a dark haired man that walked in from the unknown place. He seemed to be very popular in the pub, for many heads turned to him and greeted him. One particularly hunched man in shabby robes and large warts on his nose walked up to him to shake his hand. The man didn't even blink at the ugliness of the other man and smiled at him kindly.

Seeing only his profile, Jean sharpened her gaze, but he wouldn't turn around. After all the people cleared his way, he seemed to be considering something, and just before she could even fathom the idea of walking up to him he set out of the pub. The black hair sticking out at an odd angle was the last thing she saw.

"What the bloody hell? There is no string! How'd she do it?" Ron blurted beside her and she started, turning back to him.

"What is it? Oh, finally a drink. I was really thirsty."

With a sigh, she reached for the bottle, but Ron slapped her hand away.

"Don't touch them!" he hissed under his breath.

"Why not?"

"Do you know what just happened? These bottles…they just…flew here!"

"Bottles don't fly, Ron," Jean replied reasonably.

"Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot, I saw it!" he snapped back defensively.

"Okay, I admit the place is a bit strange, but that doesn't mean I will be so foolish as to believe a bit of silly illusion. Stop pulling my leg and just get on with your drink. It looks very good."

Jean reached for the cold bottle and uncorked it. Taking a sip, she made a strange face, but gulped down the liquid nonetheless.

"This is nothing like beer!" she said, setting it back down.

"See? They're trying to poison us, maybe!"

"Please don't be ridiculous! It's very good, try yourself. I'm just saying it's not beer."

Hesitantly, Ron took the bottle and sipped from it. After the first sip he gulped down half the bottle immediately.

"Yeah, the stuff's good, but there's still something fishy going around here," he said suspiciously, peering over his shoulder. "They're wearing cloaks for Heaven's sake. I heard fashion in big cities is very innovative and all that, but this?"

"Don't mind it; they're just creative in setting up the decorations and treating the customers. I'm sure that's all."

"Yeah? Look at this," he whispered in awe and pointed behind him. Five people just stood up from one table and were heading for the exit. As if by magic, the chairs pushed themselves back to the table while the dirty dishes and cups floated over to the waitress's already outstretched arms.

Watching the entire scene with her eyes focused and eyebrows knitted together, Jean stared after the waitress as she took to wash the dishes in the sink, looking as though dishes flying around her pub were a customary thing.

"That was like magic," Ron said bewildered, turning back to Jean and giving her a troubled look. The notion hit Jean as well, and there it was again, the tingling to her skin, the fascination she spotted in Ron's eyes and felt herself. However, thinking it through a second later, she shook her head.

"But magic…there's no such thing as magic."

Her throat seemed to burn after the words parted her lips. It felt like a lie, what she had just said. It felt just like the type of lie she felt when looking at Jonathan, going to his parties and living her life like she had up until this point. The meaning of the words seemed to pain her in a way that made her feel robbed of something. Grabbing her bottle and downing it in one gulp, she tried to blink away the unexplainable tears welling up in her eyes.

Silence pressed in on them. Ron's eyes were unfocused and he seemed to be deep in his own thoughts, scratching his beard. He kept glancing over his shoulder every second, not warily, though, almost as if he wanted to witness such a moment again.

"Ouch!" Jean yelped, yanking her hand away from the table. "What…?" Ron goggled at the butterbeer cork that grew actual teeth and was clinging to Jean's finger strongly.

"Don't you worry!" yelled the waitress in a sing-song voice. Striding toward them, she waved her hand and the cork fell off Jean's finger in an instant. "It's a new charm of mine, you see," she said beaming. "Every time someone finishes their drink, their corks will bite them in the finger to remind them to return the bottle," she pointed to a little sign reading 'Return Bottles' on the wall that went unnoticed by most customers probably. "Wizards need to recycle too."

Smiling cheerily, obviously very pleased with this invention, she gathered Jean's bottle and walked off to where she had been stationed previously.

Observing the light gash in her finger, Jean stood up from the table abruptly. "That's it," she snapped shakily, "I'm getting out of here."

Just that moment, there was a rumble at the entrance and Jean saw a small, furry animal burst into the pub, jumping up onto one of the tables. It looked like an overgrown-ferret and that almost made Jean giggle. The apparent owner of the animal strode in seconds later, sweaty-faced .

"Dommy!" he said in what would be a patronizing tone had he not been completely out of breath.

"Don't dare you touch me, you ugly, foul-faced, smelly fart!" the animal shrieked in a high-pitched voice, making both Ron and Jean wince. It talked?

"Easy now, Dommy, that's enough. Be a good boy and come back. I'll buy you a few tasty biscuits and deliver you back to the shop."

"Not going anywhere, blasted dung-licker. Bogey-eater!" it shrieked again as its owner attempted to take a step closer.

Jean and Ron watched the scene with their mouth hanging open when suddenly the owner lunged himself at the fur ball.

The creature leapt backwards, straight onto Ron's head. It hissed loudly, sending Ron flying through the pub, screaming obnoxiously just to get it off. His cap fell off his head and got lost somewhere under the tables.

"Don't worry, sir, it's just a Jarvey!" shouted the owner in panic, running to Ron and seizing the animal into his hands. "He's harmless except for that dirty mouth of his."

"Darned, stupid son of a banshee!" the Jarvey spat at Ron and struggled out of the firm grip of his owner. Now he jumped at the woman dressed in rags. She jumped up from her chair and tried to shake it off, but to no avail. Other customers seemed to want to help her, slapping her back with brooms in an effort to chase the Jarvey away.

Suddenly people were jumping and yelling all over the place, while the Jarvey still screamed horrible, disgusting insults everyone's way. As all of them fell over and pushed into each other, the chairs and tables jumped out of their way, as if trying not to get damaged.

Panic overtook them, and so Ron grabbed Jean's hand and set out straight for the exit of the pub. They ran through the jumping chairs and pushed an old man dressed in a scarlet cloak out of their way. Through a shower of insults and a loud commotion, they didn't hear at all a woman's voice calling their names into the chaos.

* * *

Sometimes your own happiness is blinding. Just like Ginny's new ring, it seemed to blind her, but in a good way. Happiness was good for washing away all the bad and dark in one's soul. Even though it wouldn't be gone permanently, it was pushed to somewhere in the back for just a while. And you could breathe again. After all, it was time to be happy, Ginny thought.

She could allow herself and Harry to be happy after all they had already gone through. He of all people deserved it. There was no denying she loved him more than anything in the world, and so it wasn't very hard to succumb to the blissful happiness that engulfed her.

Her only regret was that those she loved just as much weren't there to share her happiness and enjoy a happiness of their own. Not a day would go by, no matter how happy she would ever be, that she wouldn't think of them.

Turning the ring over her finger, Ginny ran a hand through her hair and sighed into the emptiness of the flat she shared with Harry. She couldn't wait for him to get back home and look through all the congratulation notes they had received from the Weasleys and other friends. Crookshanks, older and graying, was resting in her lap, purring comfortably. It was only that day that he had returned from his two day absence of running about the streets and hunting for mice.

After Hermione disappeared along with Ron, Ginny took the cat in and loved it very dearly.

She stood up from the comfortable armchair and Crookshanks jumped off her lap, curling on the carpet under the table.

Ginny walked around the living room aimlessly, waiting and feeling more and more anxious by the minute. She kept glancing to the little cupboard where she kept all her 'clues' about Ron and Hermione. After the row-turned-proposal with Harry, he'd promised not to squash her hopes, and he hadn't thus far. Ginny, however, pushed it away herself, no longer sure whether it was any good keeping on like this. That moment, though, the same old determination seeped into her with every new tick of the clock.

Ginny was never one to believe in telepathy or other Muggle nonsense, and so she suspended these strange feelings once again.

An owl behind her window took her out of her daze and so she strode over to it merrily, thinking it was congratulations from perhaps Charlie. He was always late in his correspondence. Letting the owl inside, she took the letter and opened it. It was not from Charlie, but a smile found its way to her lips anyway.

Hannah Longbottom, Neville's wife, was writing to her.

 _Hello Ginny,_

I don't want to distress you or anything like that, but something strange happened today. I was at work, just doing my stuff and watching after my new waitress Amalia (a feisty, foolish little thing) when some sort of commotion started. It appeared as though a pair of Muggles appeared in my pub, but that's impossible since Leaky's invisible to them. Still they looked mightily freaked out when seeing magic and one especially misbehaved Jarvey jumping around, insulting everything with a brain. They ran for it, but I can't help myself…just as they left my pub, I could've sworn on my best stew that it was Ron and Hermione.

I'm not sure, though. Maybe they were just a couple of exhausted and frustrated wizards copying hairdos of old heroes from the war. People have a weird thing for hair lately, take Amalia for instance.

I hope you're well,

Love, Hannah

Ginny winced and set the letter down on the table with deliberate force, not wanting to place it into the folder where she kept any information about her brother and Hermione. She strode into the living room, biting at her fingernails, and jumped when the door opened and Harry walked in.

Her first urge was to tell him straight away, but even though he promised he wouldn't doubt her, there was still the possibility he wouldn't like it at all.

Crookshanks ran to Harry and let himself be stroked behind the ears. Harry then walked to Ginny with a smile and hugged her, throwing in a kiss. When Ginny didn't respond quite the way he'd wanted, he took off his cloak and hung it up in the hall.

Harry's silence irritated Ginny to no end, and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from telling him about the letter. Since she hadn't even had five bloody minutes to think Hannah's letter over, her heart was racing and her eyes kept darting all over the place.

"You won't believe what happened to me today," Harry said slowly as he emerged from the hall and sat down on the sofa comfortably, looking through the congratulations letters and smiling at each one. Dropping them to the table, Harry looked up at Ginny solemnly. "I understand now what it was for you to have strange feelings about Ron and Hermione and whether they're alive."

Ginny's stomach did an immediate lurch as she heard him bring up the very subject she forbade herself to speak of. Her eyes widening, she went over to sit beside him, reaching for his hand and squeezing it tightly.

"Why? What do you mean?"

Shrugging, Harry stroked her hand softly. "I don't know. I was just passing through the Leaky Cauldron today like any other day when I suddenly got this…feeling, this urge to turn around. It felt as though I'd heard their voices or would find them chatting over a coffee, waiting for me to join them as if nothing ever happened. In the end I did realize it was just a random wave of nostalgia, but still, it was very strong." Leaning back into the sofa as if nothing had happened at all, Harry gave Ginny a smile. "It's all right now. I just know how you feel and I apologize for doubting you as much as I have."

Staring at Harry blankly, Ginny's jaw dropped open and she could only mutter a soft, shaky, "What?"

Even Crookshanks seemed to be holding his breath, his eyes set on Harry intently.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Harry got suddenly worried telling her this had been a mistake, as it meant treading into very fragile territory. "It was nothing, Gin, really…"

But Ginny had already stood up from the sofa. "What are you doing?" Harry asked as he saw Ginny putting on her shoes.

"I'm going to go and look for them," she said breathlessly.

"What?" exclaimed Harry, following her swiftly, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him. "It was just a feeling, nothing more. I shouldn't have told you this."

"Don't you think it's a bit strange? Stop ignoring all that's coming up!" Ginny shouted, her voice near a scream. "The article I saw, all the feelings you and I experience, and then Hannah's letter!"

"What letter?"

"There, on the table, read it!"

Upon hearing the tone in her voice, Harry didn't dare disobey that order. Striding into the kitchen, he took the letter and read it quickly, his eyes moving from one end of the paper to the other. The more he read, the paler he got.

"But…this, this has to be some kind of a mistake. I-I don't get it," he said with a trembling voice, dropping the letter from his hand. It floated slowly to the ground, twirling in the air while Harry looked at Ginny hopelessly. Her eyes were flashing and upon seeing disbelief still etched in Harry's face, she leaned against the wall and let out a frustrated sob.

"Please Harry, don't be stupid…" she began slowly and quietly, but Harry knew that inside she was far from quiet. His own heart seemed to be beating far too wildly. Walking toward her slowly, taking each step as if he were in a daze, he reached her.

"Okay, Ginny, let's go. Let's go, but if this is just a false alarm, if it's just another…lie or an illusion," he said, tears glistening in his green eyes and his voice hoarse with emotion, "it's on you, Gin, I won't take any responsibility in your disappointment."

Kissing him abruptly on the lips, Ginny flicked her wand and Harry's shoes suddenly stuffed themselves onto his feet.

Just as they were out the door, Crookshanks leapt onto Harry's back and sank his claws deep into his sweater.

"No, Crookshanks, you have to stay. Stay!" he yelled, trying to push the cat off him, but the animal wouldn't let go.

Grinning widely, Ginny held Harry so he would stop trying to shake Crookshanks off himself.

"I think he wants to go with us," she said knowingly, giving Harry a meaningful look. He only sighed and relaxed, and Crookshanks allowed himself to be taken into Ginny's arms and out of the flat. As Harry locked the door, Ginny was already running down flights of stairs. Although dread settled over his face, he felt hope taking over his entire being, experiencing just the thing he was afraid of most. But throughout his life he learned that not all hope was useless. And closing your eyes before obvious destiny was as foolish as hoping in the impossible. Maybe, just maybe, there really was nothing to lose, Harry thought wildly to himself before running after Ginny.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you so much everyone for reviewing and for reading! It makes me very happy that you're enjoying the story. I'll be travelling over the next few weeks, but will do my best to keep the updates as frequent as possible. Please let me know what you think so far, I love to hear what's on your mind! Love to you all!


	9. A Touch of Past

**Memory Dust**

Chapter 8 - A Touch of Past

Jean and Ron walked aimlessly through the streets, side by side, but not talking to each other. They knew they were both still going back in their minds to what they had just witnessed, but for now neither of them felt the need to acknowledge it out loud. An unknown force was pulling them in various directions and silently they were both contemplating whether it was just an illusion or truth. But the events that had led them up to this point had proved to be true, even if preposterously unbelievable. And to doubt something they had seen with their very eyes would be denial too strong for them to succumb to.

Both of them felt similarly about the occurrence. Frightened and bewildered, but caught with a fascination mingled with a desire to be a part of it. Maybe it was another one of those strange things that meant something more and maybe it was just an ordinary attraction one feels when encountering something new and alluring. But for one, in their private silence taking them through the bustling, loud city they were both glad they weren't in this alone and that the person walking next to them was feeling similar if not the same.

Simultaneously they looked at each other and stopped in the middle of the crowded street. Ron leaned against the wall to get out of the way of the people walking past and Jean stood next to him with her arms crossed.

"I need a quiet place to think," she said, more to herself than Ron, but Ron looked around.

"How about a library?"

"Too nice a dream at the moment," Jean muttered, massaging her temples to go back over the jumping chairs and talking furry animals chased around by witches and walking brooms.

"No, look," he said, pointing to a spot across the street. Jean glanced across the street and spotted a large building with tall windows and long posters hanging from the roof, announcing upcoming events or titles that were new at the place.

"A library! Oh my God, Ron, I love you," she exclaimed, grabbed him by the sleeve and was already pulling him across the road in between the slowly passing cars of the traffic. Ron followed her, a bit baffled, his ears pink as ever. Up until this point he never really considered libraries to be a source of joy or anything of the sort, and, most importantly, he hadn't been told he was loved just like that by pretty women that haunted his dreams and set out on a past-hunting journey.

Jean pulled him in eagerly and the way she moved around the place with ease showed how comfortable she felt all of a sudden. Ron hardly registered his surroundings, because it took Jean only a few glances through the directions board to know where to go. They walked through rows of bookshelves until they reached the archive of old newspapers and books about London. She already knew where she was going and what to look for, checking the years and titles of archived newspapers, pulling stacks of them and setting them down on a table between the dusty shelves.

After the table was filled with three tall stacks of yellowing paper and fading letters, Jean and Ron sat down and flipped through them, checking for anything that might be in some way linked with them. For Ron, it was an interesting activity. Just like in films, he thought, feeling important in his task, but in films all the hours spent searching for something are summed up in few minutes. After half an hour of scanning the pages endlessly, he lost interest and became much more interested in the buzzing flies and the chattering kids off in the children's corner but most of all Jean sitting across from him, poring over page after page.

And he thought he could watch her like this for a long time. It was cozy, having her close to him, reading something. All he needed was maybe a fireplace and a mate to talk to, Ron thought vaguely. He wondered about his friends back at home, Ben and other co-workers, but none of them seemed right to just sit around and talk about anything and everything. Ron sighed at the thought of having no real best friend and of how much he needed one, more and more with each new passing day.

"Sorry, but do you have to stare at me?" asked Jean irritably after a while, closing another newspaper and setting it down on a finished stack.

Ron straightened in his chair, clearing his throat. Somehow he felt like he'd been caught in the act of wrongdoing, but it was nice wrongdoing to him, a little voice at the back of his head added.

"Oh, do you mind? There's nothing else to watch in here, really. I think this place would be so much more interesting if the books were flying around like back at the pub," he said, looking around leisurely.

Jean didn't smile at this, because to her just sitting in the library was interesting enough.

"Someone looks kind of fascinated here," she remarked dryly.

Ron's eyes lit up and a wide smile appeared on his face. "Well, yeah, the stuff was pretty amazing! I felt very attracted to the magical happenings at the place."

Jean snorted. "Attracted? You ran out of there shrieking like a mad woman."

Frowning at the remark, Ron decided to ignore it. "So do you think that there is nothing like magic? That looked very magical to me."

"I'm not saying it wasn't real what we saw, but there has to be somereasonable explanation. A mechanism maybe."

"Mechanism? Bottles flyingin the air defying gravity! Chairs move around as if they had a mind of its own. All the people dressed in funny clothes and that talking animal!"

"Oh Ron, I don't know!" exclaimed Jean, leaning back into her chair perplexed.

"Well, personally, I loved the look of it," Ron stated breathlessly. "Imagine all the possibilities if you could control things and objects with a slight wave of your hand or by the power of your thoughts!"

Supporting her chin with her palm, Jean's mind suddenly wandered at Ron's words. He was right. After the shock and fear from the odd event subsided, she couldn't help but wonder that if this was real, how was it possible? How could it be done and just how gorgeous it would be if only she would be capable of it. It was just so hard to believe...

Shaking her head, Jean looked away from the still smiling Ron who waved his hand in all directions like a well-practiced magician, and grabbed another stack of newspapers. They all dated back to the time of her appearance in Edinburgh, but so far nothing useful appeared. Jean's eyes were tired and so she closed them for a moment, wishing strongly that she could just summon a page that could help. Now magic would come in useful, she thought with a sad little smile to herself.

And then she felt something odd, a little tingle in her hands. She felt the need to take a hold of something, but she couldn't possibly think of what.

Her eyes snapping open, Jean looked at her right hand and almost instinctively reached into her pocket, but it was empty except for a wallet. A slight disappointment flowed through her and so she just took a handful of pages and turned the newspaper into the middle. Scanning the page helplessly, Jean's heart gave a sudden jolt.

There it was, a tiny headline in faded black letters above a little article stuffed at the bottom of the page. It was local news, and read, ' _Local tragedy: the renowned dentists Jane and Eustace Granger die a few months after the disappearance of their daughter._ '

Jean's insides momentarily disappeared and a wave of cold sweat flushed over her. She didn't know what to make of it. Feelings unknown and distant to her clutched at her heart, and her eyes could only vaguely scan the article. Out of long habit, her mind picked only the important details, like the names and the headline (again and again) and the address. Ripping out the page, not caring one more second just how atrocious that was, even though it was not technically a book, Jean stood abruptly, knocking over her chair.

"I have an idea. Let's go."

"What's going on?" asked Ron, "I was just concentrating on moving those books a bit."

Jean pulled Ron off his chair impatiently. "Don't be ridiculous. Just come, I'll tell you on the way."

Ron attempted one last wave of his hand, his face contorted in concentration and quite unexpectedly the last book from the shelf fell to the floor with a soft thud. Ron stared at it open-mouthed, pointing his finger to it shakily. He stood rooted to the spot and didn't feel the tugging at his sleeve by Jean nor the kid that just ran past him, chased by a very angry librarian.

"Oh come on," said Jean exasperatedly, her own hunger to find out more about what she just read taking the better of her.

"But didn't you see? Just like in the pub!"

"Ron, there was a little girl who ran past and then that old librarian after her, they probably just bumped into the bookcase at the other end, now please come with me," she pleaded.

Sighing with disappointment that was maybe bigger than he would expect, Ron turned to follow Jean out of the library, thinking she must've been right. As they were walking away, no one at all noticed the few tiny small sparks the book puffed out from within its pages.

* * *

After a long and tiring ride on the London Underground, Jean and Ron finally appeared in the London suburb they wished to be in. Looking at the outstretched map in her arms, Jean closely inspected the streets until she found the one she was looking for. Soon she spotted a row of shops and a hairdresser, and between them stood a small, unkempt building that used to be the dentist. Immediately striding toward it, across the street between the parked cars, Jean stared and tried to decipher any connection.

"Well, it seems we won't get any answer here," Ron remarked from beside her. "So do you actually think you might've been related to these people? I'm sure there are plenty of people with the name of Granger in this country."

"Yes, but not people whose daughter has gone missing the same year I turned up at my new place, with no record of my existence before then," snapped Jean without meaning to.

"But they can't be your parents, can they? You said your parents lived in Glasgow and that your father was unemployed while your mum was a local teacher."

Crumpling the map in her hands, Jean stuffed it into her handbag and wondered for the hundredth time just how little space she had in there. "I know, I know! But...oh, it's useless to wonder about this strange stuff anymore. Let's ask the locals, maybe they'll remember something."

They tried the hairdresser's, but that had opened only a few months ago, therefore the employees had no idea. They only said that at first they wanted to buy the place of the old dentist's because of its better rooms and space but could hardly find the owner who, it was rumored, refused to sell the place anyway. They tried the man running a pet store, who had resided there for more than a decade.

"Yes, I remember them, Jane and Eustace," he said absent-mindedly as a smile crept over his lips. He held a small rabbit in his hands, feeding him a carrot while he stroked his bandaged ear. Ron had his nose wrinkled at the smell of the store. "We weren't much acquainted, but they always had a bright and healthy smile for me and a tip for my customers what products were best for the teeth of their pets. It was a sad thing to see them go, such smart minds and great doctors."

"Did they have children?" Jean asked.

"One daughter, if I remember correctly, but I didn't see much of her. She was away at a boarding school, I think, and the older she got, the less she appeared at their office. But then she was gone for good and that's when the business started falling apart for Jane and Eustace. I mean, they were very capable dentists, they were. You see, some time before the disappearance they were away for a whole year and once they returned, all their old patients swarmed straight back to them. That really proved their quality, if you ask me."

Deep in thought, Jean paced the shop with Ron waiting. "Who are you two anyway?" the man asked, putting the rabbit back into its cage. "Are you relatives? You really have Jane's eyes, I have to say."

Ron's eyes darted to Jean who gripped the counter for support.

"Is there a way to get inside the dentist's office?" Ron asked and instinctively placed his hand on Jean's back to steady her.

The man shrugged. "Just push the door open. Sometimes a tramp or a stray cat nestles in, but I try to chase them out each time. I think it's such a shame nothing's going on with the building now, the Grangers left it clean and well-kept."

"Thank you," blurted out Jean and without further ado spun on her heel and stormed out of the shop, the bell above the door tinkling madly.

Jean stood before the door to the dentist's office hesitantly with Ron trailing a little behind her. After hearing out the man in the shop next door tell them very little information about the previous owners of this little building, Ron felt that even if they were chasing for their past together, this was her private moment to discover.

The building looked shabby and uncared for. All the windows were shut and dusty and glasses on the big entrance door were cracked and the bottom windows on the sides were boarded up. Letters on the door and an old phone number were peeling off, but the word Granger was still visible on them in faded letters. The door wasn't locked, just as the man had said, as Jean found out when she pushed it open.

Stepping inside, Jean wasn't surprised at the familiarity she felt. The place was under heavy dust and hardly any light reached inside through the thick wooden boards. They walked through the deserted waiting room, bare of any furniture that might've been there in the past and had probably been sold or stolen. The door to the exam room was hanging off its hinges and she was sure this place had been invaded many times upon seeing the mess, all the empty bottles laying on the floor. The big chair was still in the exam room, and at the sight of it Jean felt as if she had sat in that spot many, many times. Then there was the little sink and a cup still set on it, undisturbed. However, the rest of the room was empty, just like the one before. No books or papers, no instruments, only empty shelves and two overturned tables.

Passing the room slowly, her steps measured, Jean's hand flew to her neck where she played with a thin silver chain nervously. Glancing around the room, she experienced an intense loss, a touch from the past unlike any other she'd gone through up until that point. It was so unlike when she'd met Ron and yet still the same, because once again she knew and felt things she couldn't understand and had no reasonable explanation for, but it was different because with Ron she knew she'd found something. However, this time, with each new step and each new breath of the heavy and smelly air she could feel it more and more that the people who used to work here had been a huge part of her life, but were no longer.

She reached the counter where most of the instruments must've been and ran her fingertips along it, brushing a thick layer of dust off it. Crouching down, she absentmindedly went through the drawers. They were either empty or full of papers, records of old patients, the payments and all in all nothing that interested Jean even if it might've been useful. Looking into the last one on the top, Jean touched something cold like glass. Pulling it out, a gasp parted her lips as everything that was building up until now hit her squarely and all at once.

She was holding a framed picture of a little girl with a mane of bushy brown hair, smiling wildly with braces on her buck teeth and clutching a report card with straight As. There was absolutely no doubt that she was looking at her young self. It was not a feeling. This time she knew it.

This office belonged to her parents and they were dead. The memories she originally had were as unreal as ever and she pushed them to the back of her mind, the figures of a man and woman of unremarkable appearance and affection were forgotten. They couldn't be her real parents. She never saw them anymore, she never thought about them much and all she could remember about them was even less than meaningless. And then, being here in an old, untouched office gave her a feeling of unimaginable warmth and security and pain, and even though they were not here and she couldn't even imagine their faces, it was as if she could feel them beside her.

Standing up and clutching the picture close to her, Jean took in a deep breath and took a few staggering steps backward. Growing dizzy, she almost thought she would fall until her back bumped into what must've been Ron, but instead of turning around she just leaned into him and shut her eyes. His support meant more than anything to her in that moment and she didn't mind a single bit as she felt his hands on her shoulders. She knew he was watching her, and that she should speak soon, but the words were lost in her throat the moment she tried to utter them. Slowly and surely, she began to tremble until she walked over to the large chair and sat down, placing her face in her hands and weeping softly.

Ron watched her, still very much bewildered from the moment they'd walked in until the part where she leaned into him, shaken to the point of completely losing her composure and weeping in the quiet of this eventful afternoon. He didn't know what to do, he'd never had the knack to handle his or anyone else's emotions well. Sometimes he felt as though his emotional range was very poor and a vague thought of a teaspoon and distant laughter made a ghost of a smile pass through his lips. But then he snapped back to reality, in which Jean was crying and he stood there like a frightened little boy, taking a step forward to her and then two steps back. At last he reached her and crouched down to be at the same level as her, taking the picture slowly from her fingers. Glancing at it, Ron saw the glazed face under the cracked glass and understood. Suddenly the gap between him and Jean seemed to widen scarily.

Trying to reach out with his hand, Ron hesitated for a moment, and almost decided to stand up and walk away, to leave her to deal with this herself. But he felt that he wouldn't and possibly couldn't do that. With a trembling movement Ron's hand traveled into Jean's hair and found its way across her small ear to her tear-stained cheek. Jean looked up at him slowly and at the sight of her red eyes, Ron felt a horribly strong urge to embrace her. This time, though, he would no longer care for what seemed right and what seemed wrong. Through the course of the last few days he'd learned that nothing was really what it seemed.

Fighting with himself, hoping to God he would do this right, Ron pulled Jean close to him. His heart fluttered as she hugged him back and continued to cry on his shoulder. His heart leapt when he kissed her on the top of her head and she didn't flinch or pull away, just held him tighter.

"Come on now," Ron said quietly and pulled Jean to her feet. She leaned into his shoulder, but tried her best to compose herself now. The tears were still running down her cheeks in trickles, but she was no longer sobbing.

They walked for a while through the quiet streets until they reached a park full of sunlight and lone benches hidden by trees from prying ears. Both of them sat down and only then did Jean realize she was clutching Ron's hand fiercely. Aware of this, she let go and wiped the tears off her cheeks, sniffing.

"I'm...very sorry for what happened back there, I didn't-"

"No," cut in Ron, embarrassment etched in his face as he handed her back the picture, "it's all right, everything's fine."

Holding the picture in her hands and touching it softly over and over without looking at it, Jean turned to Ron.

"I have no idea what happened back there, but it's me on that photo and everything's crazy." She started speaking very fast, furrowing her eyebrows and gesticulating wildly. "You, me, us coming to this place, feeling everything we're not supposed to feel. How can I possibly explain this, I don't get it and it's driving me mad and hopeless. I feel like I'm losing my grip on reality, like when we were at the pub. I want to find out, I want to know who I am, I want to know what all this means and where we belong and what happened to us to make us so lost in the dark and feeling so strangely detached from the world."

"Hey, I promise that soon we'll find out," Ron began a little awkwardly, saying the first thing he thought could make her feel better. "Look, it seems that all these coincidences are too odd, maybe, but they're leading us forward. We haven't been here that long and we're so far already. I promise you that something must happen very soon, sooner than we might expect," he finished a bit more eagerly, seeing a little light of possibility in the statement.

But Jean only shook her head, as if she hadn't heard a word Ron said. "They're dead and I feel destroyed because of it and I don't even know who those people were!"

"Jean, we already know something wicked's going on here. I haven't got the slightest idea what it is with all this memories and emotions stuff. But we got here and we'll get further and we'll find an explanation to this. We will find someone that will help, I'll do everything, I swear." The urgency in his voice made Jean lock eyes with him. She stared into the blue of his eyes hard and long. The panic growing inside eased and the anger that had been building up inside, borne from sheer confusion and inability to just know the solution and answer, let go of her brain and nerves.

He attempted a goofy, reassuring smile and warmth spread to the tips of her fingers.

Jean smiled and that one smile conjured by him meant more than a lot to him, he realized. He felt an odd rush of pride that told him that just by making her smile he'd done something right.

Ron looked different now, somewhat closer and more cheerful as he looked around, trying to look casual. Jean was touched by his manner, by his attempts to calm her and the fact that, unlike Jonathan, he succeeded.

Tilting her head to the side, she observed him. To her, he seemed a beautiful man. She liked the look of his red hair and freckles around his long nose, put low between his simple, soft blue eyes. This quirky man sitting before her, sharing an intricate and baffling journey with her made her blush like a silly schoolgirl with an ordinary touch on the shoulder. For the first time, Jean thought that if their memories were damaged and if they really had known each other before, she wondered whether they might've been in love.

She sighed, feeling tired. Tired from an entire day of roaming London streets, tired from shocking sights and heart-breaking information. Thoughts that were always circling around in her mind dispersed, like they sometimes do, creating a clear equanimity. Finally, instead of her confusion, Jean noted the sweet spring breeze in her hair and feverish skin. Moving forward, she kissed Ron on the lips briefly. It could be nothing more than a misplaced peck on the cheek between good friends. Or it could be the source of Ron's red face and hammering heart. Or the calmness with which Jean leaned back against the bench and said, "Thank you."

"Um, well, Jean.."

She gave a harsh laugh and pulled the potograph from her pocket again.

"It's not Jean." She showed it to him and pointed with her finger on the name on the report card her younger self was holding. "It's Hermione."

* * *

 **Author's Note: yay, finally I can start calling Hermione by her real name again, it was a tad bit exhausting until now. Thank you all for your continued support, 10 reviews on the last chapter, you guys are incredible! Thanks for taking the time to give any kind of feedback, i really appreciate it. I'm really glad you're enjoying reading the story. Please let me know what you thought of this one. Remember that at this very moment, Harry and Ginny are looking for our pair of lost wizards, so let's hope it avails to something! Thank you!**


	10. Crookshanks's Flight

**Memory Dust**

Chapter 10 – Crookshanks's Flight

There was a silent agreement between Ron and Hermione to not talk about what happened to them anymore. On their way back to the hotel they only said random words in passing. When they got to their room, Hermione jumped in the shower immediately. She avoided Ron, partly because of the kiss and partly because she simply needed to be alone for a little while.

Turning the tap on, she let the cool water chill her body. It was an odd habit for her to always shower in cold water whenever she felt upset. It had a resetting effect on her. Her body always went rigid for a few seconds as she took in a deep breath and felt her mind go blissfully blank.

This time it didn't really help. No matter how cold the water went, she could still feel the unknown pain gnawing at her heart and forming a painful lump in her throat.  
It was tough, being so close to crying and yet being unable to do so. There was the never-ending dull pain in the chest. Every breath was ready to be the one of the first cry, but each and every one of them just evaporated against the glass sliding door of the shower.

An echo of the word 'Hermione', her new name...or old name, sounded in her head. The locket, Ron's mumble in his sleep back at the hospital...how crazy was it all. She had been living with the wrong name for most of what she could remember of her life, but that didn't even seem real anymore either. Hermione, not Jean. But as insane as it was, it felt right somehow, even though odd.

Hermione put her head under the water and sighed as she shivered. Slipping down to sit on the shower floor, she put her chin on her knees and just sat there in the quiet, only the pitter-patter of the water as witness. Staring into nowhere, her mind went back again and again to the picture she had carefully stuck in the pocket of her jeans.  
The girl with the bushy hair haunted her almost every second now. Every time she closed her eyes, there was the flash of her face behind her eyelids. That bushy hair was hers. Hermione wondered vaguely whether the girl, too, had tried hopelessly to tame that horrid hair as she did every morning.

Ron had been so sweet on the way home, she remembered with a flicker of a smile. Hermione hoped he knew how much she appreciated his silence.

Her thoughts always seemed to travel to him and bring her a dose of mystification with a wave of comfort. It was funny, weird and soothing all at once.

Quite suddenly, the hollow feeling of loneliness was leaving her. She took in the sound of the water and Ron flipping the channels over the television in the next room. The realization she wasn't alone made her heart fill up with immense relief, pushing away the emptiness as she stood up and turned the water off.

Stepping out of the shower carefully so as not to slip, she dried herself with a towel, which she then wrapped around her soaking mane of hair and twirled it into a turban. Wrapping herself in a thick white bathrobe, Hermione hesitated before opening the door.

Over the years she had learned to deal with any kind of personal problem alone. She had never confided much into anyone, never known the ease it brought, being able to put a bit of weight off her shoulders just by telling a good friend. Now, on the other hand, she needed to share her pain, even if only by feeling his presence by her side.

Opening the door to their room, she saw him sitting on his bed, holding the remote control and staring at the television in a manner as if it never really interested him in the first place. He was obviously deep in thought.

Shaking her head at the thought, Hermione shut the door of the bathroom so as to gain his attention. He lifted his eyes in her direction and just as she had expected, he turned slightly pink at the sight of her.

Ignoring the awkwardness, knowing it was the only thing she could do, Hermione strode across the room and sat at the other end of his bed, crossing her legs.

"Um, do you…" Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably, looking everywhere except her, "…need anything?"

"Maybe," Hermione voiced, a little pleased by his obvious embarrassment despite herself.

That seemed to surprise Ron and he turned on the bed to her. "Are you okay?" he asked, more naturally this time.

"Not really. I just wanted to do something. You know, to get the other things off my mind."

"Oh. Sure. But just so you know, I'm not a very good talker."

"I don't believe that," Hermione said with a smile.

"No, really. I usually only say things I shouldn't really. Most people think I'm obscenely insensitive." And yet some things he had said up until then were far from wrong, if not just right, Hermione thought briefly.

"Well, being always tactful doesn't do you any good, either," she said and tried to tell a humorous story from the past that she used to share while hanging out with Jonathan's crowd. But it never sounded more boring and void of all the vital parts as it did now. She felt she should be telling other stories in order to break the ice, but she hadn't had any significant memories to share.

"It's nothing special really, as I hear myself say it now," she added with a sigh after hearing Ron's polite awkward laughter.

"Tell me about it. Chelsea's always trying to force me into talking about childhood stories and I never do because I don't have anything special to say. I was a normal kid, nothing special to remember."

Biting on her bottom lip, she gave Ron a furtive glance. "I thought more about the magic stuff."

"You did?" he asked, eyes lighting up. Ron was glad she'd brought it up because whenever he had mentioned it prior to this unexpected conversation, she had grown even more fidgety and aggravated as if he was insulting her intellect by suggesting the existence of something so unbelievable. There was also the lingering empty sadness in her eyes that she'd walked around with ever since finding out about her maybe-parents.

"Yes. Maybe, if it really exists, which I'm not saying it does, it might be the reason our memory is damaged or something. It was just a crazy thought, though."

"What do you know, anything is possible. We could've just been experimental bunnies for scientists who meddled with implanting memory chips into people's brains."

Hermione laughed, thinking that maybe Ron watched way too many sci-fi movies.

"Well, even that sounds like a more plausible reason, actually," Hermione remarked, smiling but furrowing her eyebrows at the same time.

"Imagine having the shrieking animal as a pet," said Ron with a laugh.

"Or having a snake slither through your hair."

"What a strange and interesting world that would be. Maybe they have flying brooms." Ron's eyes became somewhat dreamy and unfocused.

Hermione leaned back and supported herself with her hands. "And large libraries with books on spells and how to do magic. You know, like in the movies. Tall shelves full of old and new books, thick as tree branches!"

"Right," said Ron with a goofy smile, still not really understanding how someone could find so much joy in large and thick books. "How about tomorrow?"

Hermione heaved a sign and supported her chin with her palm. "I don't know. I was so caught up in emotions that I was thinking of going back to the dentist's office. Ask the pet shop owner more about them. Maybe I can find their family and maybe they'll know me. That's the only decent plan I have right now," she said with a frown, clearly  
disappointed with herself for not coming up with anything better.

"Sounds good to me," Ron replied, though feeling a bit left out. Hermione had found a little trace of what might've been her family. He had nothing. He feared getting left behind, but chased that thought away as soon as Hermione smiled at him timidly and stood up.

"It's been a long day. I think I'd better go to sleep."

They hadn't even talked for that long, but Hermione already felt a little better, a little further from what was still trembling within her. But silence for that evening wouldn't do and she was glad she didn't let it overtake them.

They had their eyes locked together for a little while, until they burst into simultaneous quiet laughter. Hermione then turned around and went to her bed, taking the towel off her hair, letting them fall down in wild brown cascades around her shoulders.

Ron watched her secretly, knowing this woman had a way that would make him stay. He wished he could talk to her more, but the feelings he experienced each time she got close were starting to be overwhelming.

"I'm just worried this might really take longer and we might go back empty-handed," she said uneasily, drying her hair with the towel.

"Go back?" Ron asked in a low voice. When he was with her, he felt a part of another world. Somehow the thought of his home and his responsibilities hardly occurred to him.

"Yes. Jonathan will be coming back from Greece and then there's-"

"Oh of course," Ron cut in suddenly, muttering that more to himself, but Hermione heard his icy tone.

"Ron?" she asked, but was met by the reaction of Ron turning his back to her, taking off his jeans quickly and changing into his nightshirt. Hermione tried to ignore his striking shoulder-blades on his freckled back.

"You're right, it's been a long day, let's go to sleep," he snapped, punched into his pillow a few times, then turned his light off and huddled under his covers without turning around.

Ron felt like the stupidest man alive as he heard Hermione turn her light off and turn on her bed after moments of surely staring at his back deliberately and in shock.

It wasn't his fault his insides twisted at the very mention of the man Hermione spoke of as her fiancé. Jonathan, the very awesome lawyer or whatever the hell he was. It wasn't his bloody fault just as the fact that he couldn't stop thinking about how close they were together back at the dentist's office. He was no idiot to think it was supposed to mean something. It had been in a friendly fashion, that's all.

But he remembered, since it was so fresh, and he was sure he would remember clearly for long days to come how light and sweet it felt. The unexpected sensation that had filled him and made him go weak at the knees like a blubbering idiot.

And now the jealousy sweeping him was unlike any other jealousy he remembered experiencing. He'd never really felt jealous about anyone, come to think of it. Probably because he was either robbed of his real memories or had lived a dull life all this time and this crazy adventure was just a very early midlife crisis. He didn't know which was worse.

Feeling bitter and aggravated to the point of wanting to stand up and kick something, Ron forced himself into restless sleep, full of tossing and turning. He dreamed of Hermione, of being chased by scary cats, being punched by a handsome man with a case full of bricks and then of walking in dark alleyways with a dead end, while a red-haired woman kept calling out to him in the darkness. 

* * *

Sunlight was curving over the streets of London, bathing it in the many colors of the late sunrise. Most people were just waking up to go to work. Two people, however, were still roaming the streets, followed by a ginger cat.

They were both tired from a night of walking and trying out everything they could think of to somehow at least find the track of those they were searching for. Harry walked in Ginny's wake, while she was holding a map in her hands, tapping it with her wand over and over.

"It's no use," he muttered, more to himself than to her, but she heard him. Turning on her heel, Ginny poked her wand into his chest angrily. She had circles under her eyes and her usually smooth red hair was tangled and a little oily.

"Eventually it might work. I'll just keep trying."

"Ginny, now you're going over the top!" Harry sighed, but regretted the words as soon as they parted his lips.

"Excuse me?" Ginny's eyes flared dangerously and for a moment Harry wanted to apologize, but then he thought about it and decided that he wouldn't falter under the furious eye of Ginevra Weasley just because she flashed her angry look at him.

"I absolutely refuse to keep walking around the city aimlessly."

"But-"

"We can't find them! Every spell has failed," he said helplessly, his own disappointment etched strongly in his voice.

"Maybe they're magically prevented from being found."

"Hermione and Ron wouldn't hide themselves from us!" Harry exclaimed, repeating the same argument for the third time that night, day, whatever it was supposed to be, he thought in exhaustion. The night seemed never-ending, even with its lazy sun lighting up the world more and more.

"Oh my goodness, Harry, you honestly think they would be hiding? Someone's making it impossible to find them. This is someone else's doing!"

"But you said they saw them at the Leaky Cauldron together. That's what you said, that's what Hannah thinks she saw. She didn't mention anyone sinister walking by their sides and the people didn't look like they were threatened or in danger. I doubt it was them. Just think about it logically…if they really were at the Leaky Cauldron, how…how would they appear there so suddenly? And why wouldn't they contact us? It just doesn't make sense!"

"Some things don't make sense."

"No, this is too much. Look at yourself! You have interrogated almost every customer at the Leaky Caldron, shook the devil out of Neville even though he wasn't even present at the scene! You barged in on that freaky girl in the middle of the night, interrupting her doing God knows what."

"Exactly! And what did she say? She described them perfectly," Ginny shouted desperately, flinging her arms into the air.

Laughing a mirthless laugh, Harry's hands reached to his temples as he tried to talk patiently to Ginny, somehow forgetting that would irritate her even more. "She only described their hair, and sorry if I say so, but I do not consider that a very plausible clue. I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm totally devastated by everything that's going on and I'd give my damn life if only I could bring them back. But I don't know how and we've ran out of ways to find them. And that's probably because we're searching for phantoms in thin air."

"No," said Ginny quietly, her voice breaking.

"What else do you want to do? Search every corner of London, of the world?"

"Harry,-"

"Ginny, let's just go home, please."

Ginny stared at him hard and long. She was hesitating and for a second Harry almost thought she was about to walk to him and give up. That was a big underestimation on his part, he later realized.

Taking a step back, Ginny's face fixed into a frown, and she placed her fists on her hips.

"I am not marrying you until we find them!" She was surprised by her own words for a moment there. Surprised and frightened even more so, because Harry stood there, fuming and looking as though he was just about to snatch the ring he'd given her from her finger and storm off.

Nothing was said for a great deal of time. The sun was getting higher in the sky and the city was waking up with its characteristic sounds. Staring at each other wildly, Ginny waited for his answer, but Harry was unwilling to give one.

Crookshanks stood between them, looking tiredly from one to the other. Out of the blue a strong gust of wind blew. Ginny shivered momentarily and looked into Harry's eyes more softly now. There they were, lost in a dead end. She was furious and felt a large amount of love for this man at the same time. This time he didn't doubt her. He went with her and ran through the city the entire night, casting spell after spell, even going as far as to search for new spells in books, which had them waking up the owner of Flourish and Blotts. Being Harry Potter had its benefits, after all (although he had to give Mr. Blotts his word he would attend some random publishing event of a book that chronicled the war).

But hours later, long night after them and a very hopeless day in front of them, they didn't have anything, not a single clue. There was only one thing and that was Ginny's strengthening feeling that her brother was close. This didn't even count Hermione as much, but Ron, with whom she always used to have a connection. A brother is a brother and when she just couldn't fight all her inner intuitions, she wouldn't _rest_.

Just as Harry was about to speak up, something jerked Crookshanks from his apathetic stare. He sniffed the air and meowed loudly. Giving a sideways glance to Ginny, as if passing secret information she couldn't decipher, he ran off frantically without a warning.

"Crookshanks!" Ginny shouted, breaking into a run after him. She couldn't lose the cat, at least not the _sodding_ cat, she thought desperately as she was gaining on speed.

Before Harry could do something, he was already following Ginny and Crookshanks.

"Accio Crookshanks!" he yelled and straight away remembered stupidly for the hundredth time that you couldn't summon live beings, regardless of their weight.

He could see the cat a little ahead and Ginny's blazing hair was bouncing in front of him as he tried to catch up with her, a stitch in his side.

Crookshanks ran without stopping through roads and streets, having them follow him through four blocks already and still there was no stopping. When Harry was out of breath, Ginny stopped before him, bending down and supporting her weight by placing her hands on her knees.

They watched Crookshanks cross the road, ignoring all the honking from cars he provoked. Just as he was about to turn a corner, he stopped and looked back at them.

One long piercing look from a half-cat, half-kneazle, and that's when it hit Harry.

"You smart little creature," he managed to say quietly to himself and walked forward, past Ginny, quickening his pace as a swelling sensation took place in his chest. 

* * *

"Hermione, wake up!"

Jerking from her sleep, Hermione opened her eyes slowly and saw Ron crouched at her bedside, fully clothed and staring at her eagerly.

"What?" she spat. She was always a little edgy when awoken before she herself decided to. The only thing that could wake her up properly was the alarm clock in her cell-phone and its annoying jingling tune. In addition, she remembered the odd twist of his mood from friendly to cold and wasn't going to speak to him so readily.

Opening his mouth to say something, Ron just stammered helplessly, turning red. "I think we should go already. There's not much time. I mean, we can't stay in London forever and so we should start searching as early as possible." He spoke fast, his words stumbling over each other. Then he just looked at her eyebrows and attempted a serious reserved face. "Let's go."

" _Now_?" exclaimed Hermione, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It was only a little past seven. That was way too early for a day when she wasn't working.

"Yes!" hissed Ron urgently.

"What…why?"

Sighing, he stood up and put his hand onto his hips, looking out the window blankly. "I don't know. I just need to get out. And I'm hungry," he added as an afterthought, almost annoyed by the fact.

"Well then wait for the breakfast to arrive."

"No, you don't get it. I couldn't sleep the entire night," he blurted out, bending down to look closely at Hermione again. "I feel like we should get up and go out to do some more searching. Let's go back to the pub for example. Or something. Anything. Right now I just feel unable to sit or sleep and do nothing."

"I doubt we'll even find our way back there," Hermione said grudgingly as she sat up in her bed and swung her legs over it. Once she was fully awake, it would be useless to try and go back to sleep. "What is it anyway?"

"Maybe I am! I have this odd…urge to go and see something."

Standing up and pressing her hands over her face, Hermione muttered, "Okay, okay, I'm going."

In a few moments Hermione pulled her large hair into a thick ponytail. It had the habit of looking post-explosive every time after she washed it and haven't had the time to properly dry and brush it straight after the washing.

Soon they were out the door.

"You know, I feel really odd just walking here, not even knowing where I'm headed," Hermione huffed as she tried to keep up with Ron who walked on briskly. He looked out of place and absentminded, hardly listening to her words. "Ronald!" Hermione said loudly after noticing he wasn't paying one bit of attention to her. She jerked him from his daze. "What's going on?"

"Will you be surprised if I say that I don't know?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows and waited for him to go on.

"I had strange dreams and then I woke up in the middle of the night. Ever since then I can't just shake off this feeling, like I should be elsewhere. That I'm wasting my very life by just laying in that stupid hotel room. It's a magical pull and I don't care how ridiculous that might be. It can't be any less ridiculous than what's happened until now."

"So, where are we really going?" Hermione asked slowly, knowing better than to ridicule him for she understood in possibly the deepest way she could.

Ron led her further from the main roads into a small park with a playground in it for the local kids. "Through the night I just wanted to get up and go, but I wanted to wait for you. Somehow I know I need you with me," he kept talking, pulling Hermione by the hand, not even realizing it.

"But what-" Her words were cut short as she heard a screeching noise from behind her. They both turned around and gasped as an overlarge cat stopped in front of them. The animal was looking at them imploringly, taking little tentative steps toward Hermione.

Hermione crouched down and scrutinized the flat-faced animal with squinty eyes, until she reached out her arms unaware and scooped the cat into an embrace. The animal purred softly in her arms as Hermione felt a rush of warmth and the scent of home.

Suddenly there were coming footsteps of running people. Hermione and Ron looked up. Both exchanged a blank look as they stood face to face with a couple who was staring at them with wide, tear-filled eyes.

The red-headed woman was gripping her side, breathing hard, but she had this strange, faraway smile planted on her face, as if she was just pulled out of some kind of a dream. The man by her side had his hand on his forehead and he was repeating something inaudible to himself over and over again, his eyes overflowing with tears.

"What lunatics-" Ron began saying, but the red-haired woman was quicker.

"Ron…"


	11. The Unknown Home

**Memory Dust**

Chapter 11 - The Unknown Home

Harry stood rooted to the spot, his heart hammering as fast as the day he had died and breathed again. But at the same time, there was a soothing calm and comfort in his mind, like he had felt in the Forbidden Forest when he saw his parents, Sirius and Remus for one last time. It was a miraculous feeling and a horrible fright to see his best friends, people who he loved so much and buried long ago, staring back at him, as real as ever.

Hermione's untamed hair was in its usual ponytail, strands falling in her eyes, too messy to describe. She was holding Crookshanks gingerly and Harry suddenly resolved to take great care of the animal for the rest of its life. Ron stood beside her, his hair still violently red like Ginny's, and he had the same long freckled nose and was maybe even taller than Harry had remembered.

Tears in his eyes, the silence enveloping the four of them, Harry felt as though he were staring at a portrait that depicted his best friends bickering over Hermione's cat again and again like they used to in third year. For a moment, just the most fleeting of seconds, he even doubted they were real and felt a sudden urge to take a step forward and touch their faces, embrace them and make sure they were not just magical moving canvas, empty of the real thing. Something held him back, though.

It was the quizzical expression in Hermione's eyes, one that she always had when observing something new and unknown. Or it might have been the wary, sharp gaze of Ron as if he weren't sure whether the people standing in front of him were enemies or friends.

Something was wrong. Harry felt it in the tips of his fingers and in every blink of an eye of the people standing before him.

But before he could say something, before he could act or think it all out, Ginny couldn't contain herself any more and flung her arms around her brother, sobbing on his shoulder. All three of them seemed to be taken aback. Hermione's eyes widened in a shocked but expectant sort of way. Ron slowly held Ginny, attempting a pat on the back. His goggling expression was priceless, Harry thought briefly with a grin.

Pulling away from Ron a bit, her hands still on top of his shoulders, Ginny sniffed a little and remained looking at him for just a little longer. It had been too long since she'd seen that face, and she found herself unable to tear her eyes away – until she glanced at Hermione.

Hermione was suddenly forced to drop the cat as Ginny embraced her for a change. Crookshanks meowed agitatedly, but stepped aside and seemed as though he was looking at the scene with sardonic understanding.

Meanwhile Ron exchanged an _If they must_ look with Harry, but when he caught Harry's eye, he realized what he was doing, didn't know the reason and so he looked away. Harry frowned at this, fear gripping him.

This was not how Hermione and Ron would react upon seeing them after so long.

Pulling away from Hermione slowly, Ginny took a step back to Harry, feeling more comfort there than from Hermione and Ron, both of whom didn't give off the slightest impression of response besides looking shocked. As the glowing smile faded a little from her face, Ginny opened her mouth to say something, but Ron cut in,

"Who are you?"

Ron's words hit them with a power none of them expected, even though it shouldn't have surprised them that much. Ginny's eyes darted to Harry helplessly, and so he walked to her side and placed an arm around her shoulders. They both felt a little stronger after that.

"We're Ginny and Harry, and you're our family. Ron, Hermione," Harry started, and when he said their names, both of them seemed to tremble again, "you don't know who we are at all?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a worried, flabbergasted look.

"No," Hermione said, startled as Crookshanks began nuzzling his head against her leg. She bent down and picked the cat again, stroking its head absent-mindedly. "But you… You know us."

It was not a question and she said it with an air of mystery, but there was also something like joy, Harry noted. As he nodded slowly, Hermione's eyes seemed to brighten up just as when she was coming to some conclusion she longed for.

"But what happened? How come you don't… what-" Ginny was clearly lost for words, looking between Hermione and Ron to Harry, her eyebrows furrowed. "We know you. You've been gone for so long. You have to tell us what happened and…oh my God, Ron," she said, taking a step forward and looking startlingly at him, "you're my brother."

Ron took in a sharp breath and went slightly red in the face. The first thing that came to his mind for answering was 'I don't have any sister,' but he knew better. Just by seeing the way she looked, and feeling her embrace him he felt all the distant scents of home, and past, and childhood he always thought insignificant. Her red hair and brown eyes reminded him of a mother that could scare him with her strictness and save him in his boyish anguishes at the same time.

"Okay, let's just calm down and try to figure this out," Hermione said, being probably the only one present enough to sort out the situation. "You two…" she began timidly, feeling slightly awkward for having no idea how to address them after they just openly proved they know who they are. "You say you know us. And… and that's why we're here. You see, it's very complicated, but… we have no idea who you are and I've never seen you in my entire life, but… something's wrong with us, with Ron and me."

It was beyond Harry how Hermione could keep her head in situations where everyone else would be very likely to lose it. Waiting for someone to continue, Hermione looked in vain, as Ron was still watching Ginny with a surprised but tender expression and Ginny just stared at Hermione with her mouth slightly agape.

Clearing her throat, Hermione continued in a higher voice, as if her mouth had gone very dry. "There's a lot of explaining to do on both parts, I think, and I don't really know where to start." She gave a nervous laugh and looked at the others pleadingly.

Letting go of Ginny, Harry walked to Hermione. She squinted at him a bit, as if recalling something.

"It's okay," he said softly, reaching out a hand to place on her shoulder. To his immense relief, she didn't flinch under his touch, but relaxed. "We'll tell you all you need to know. What's important is that you're back, you're safe now."

He smiled and didn't know where to keep his eyes, whether on Hermione or Ron.

"Safe from what exactly?" Ron asked, placing his hands into his pockets and stepping from one foot to the other.

"You know what this means, Harry." Ginny's voice came from behind him, making him turn back to her. "They've been Obliviated."

Both Ron and Hermione furrowed their eyebrows at this.

"We've been what?" Hermione asked, setting the cat on the ground and placing the loose strands of her hair behind her ear, licking her lips nervously.

"You've been cursed," Ginny went on. "Put under a Memory Charm, that's why you don't remember anything."

"A memory charm? What do you mean?"

Harry and Ginny stared at the pair of them with disbelief.

"You don't understand? How… You don't remember even… Well, magic, it was magic!" Ginny exclaimed, taken aback and not knowing what to do next. She had felt so overjoyed just minutes ago, but now everything was crumbling under the realization that Hermione and Ron had no idea who they were, and now it turned out they didn't even realize the existence of magic.

Harry took the information much more readily. Since he knew how it felt, being told for the first time that he's a wizard, he decided for a slow approach. "This is difficult to explain, everything and so on, but you're wizards. You always have been and-"

"I told you it was real!" Ron said excitedly, turning to Hermione.

"I never said it wasn't, I just questioned it a bit!" she retaliated indignantly. Harry had to overcome the urge to laugh.

"It doesn't matter," Ginny said, smiling at seeing her brother and friend bicker the way they used to, which could mean that even though they couldn't remember anything, they were still the same people. "We'll put you back together. There is a counter-jinx, there are ways to make everything all right again. And we'll find out what happened to you, but what's important is that you're back and you're still together. That's important, the most important thing. Oh my," she sighed and hugged them both again. For the first time, Harry saw Hermione smile a little.

It was his turn, at last, he thought as he walked to them and embraced Ron strongly, fighting the tears welling up in his eyes. His best friends were back and nothing else but that mattered to him as he hugged Hermione. They didn't yet know the reason of his affection and of his powerful embrace. They couldn't remember what the three of them had gone through, how they helped him all the time even if they weren't always with him. They never knew they were the source of his countless Patronuses. But Harry didn't care. They would know, soon enough they would find out, remember again and everything would be like before. It was so beautiful and unbelievable.

"Where have you come from?" Ginny asked.

"Edinburgh," Hermione and Ron replied at the same time. Ginny smiled at Harry knowingly, but her smile faltered as Hermione went on, "We met a couple of days ago, at the hospital where I work. Due to some… er… strange circumstances, we both realized something was wrong with our pasts. It's not that we don't remember anything. We remember our pasts. Everything from our childhood until now, but it all feels distant and unreal. So we figured we should try and find something out. That's how we got here."

Harry and Ginny found it hard to follow her. This didn't seem to be the aftereffects of a Memory Charm. Usually the afflicted person either couldn't remember anything, or they forgot only a certain stretch of time while the rest of their memory remained intact.

"Wait, so you didn't know each other until a few days ago?" asked Harry with raised eyebrows.

"No, we just felt really familiar with each other," Ron replied, shrugging. "That's how we figured out something might be wrong."

Harry exchanged a pained look with Ginny. "Okay, well…we should leave this…" he looked around at the deserted little park they were at leisurely "…place and go home, to our flat and you can come with us. That is, if you want to," he added hesitantly, receiving a scathing look for giving them a choice from Ginny, who didn't see this as optional, really.

Sighing, Hermione seemed to think what else they could do since going home with two complete strangers wasn't the epitome of safety. Even if it was obvious they'd found exactly what they needed and what they had been looking for, still she remained a little cautious as to who she would let near her.

"Good idea. I really need to settle down and hear some explanations," Ron said from beside her. Hermione just nodded, glad he'd made the decision for her rather than her having to think just a little more about the whole matter. Her head was fit to burst.

"We should really get going then," Harry said, taking his wand out of his pocket. "This is what we use to do magic," he added to them upon seeing them glaring at the piece of wood in his hand.

Ginny was quick enough to find an object they would turn into a Portkey, half of a broken beer bottle, and handed it to him.

"Portus."

The glass glowed a light blue and shook in Harry's hand, then lost its glow, as still as before. Hermione and Ron looked deeply interested.

"All we have to do is take hold of it and it'll take us to where we live. Come on," he told them, reaching out his hand encouragingly. "Take Crookshanks with you, Hermione."  
Eyeing him questioningly, it took Hermione a moment until it dawned on her. "Oh!" she exclaimed and picked the cat up once more. Before walking to Harry, she couldn't resist looking for Ron. He was in the same situation as her, he knew how she felt, she needed him with her.

Ron nodded his head and motioned for her to go forward, following and touching the bottle along with everyone else, trying very hard not to think how ridiculous they must appear. Four people with a cat, gathering round to touch a piece of glass, honestly. This was starting to be fun, was the last thing that went through Ron's mind as he felt himself being lifted off the ground as if an invisible rope hooked him around his navel and kept on pulling him through a whirlwind of swishing colours and noises.

Just as his head was beginning to spin, they landed on a hardwood floor. Ron and Hermione collapsed to the ground, wobbly-kneed, while Harry and Ginny landed much more gracefully, as if they were stepping down from invisible stairs in thin air.

It took them a few minutes and a lot of fussing from Ginny whether they wanted tea or any other refreshment to finally settle down. She even seemed to scare them a little bit by her attempts to take the best care of them that was possible. She might've been as boyish and tough as ever, Harry thought, but sometimes the resemblance to her mother was rather striking.

Hermione and Ron were sitting on a large sofa at opposite ends, preserving some distance between them. Harry sat opposite them in a comfortable recliner, Ginny perched by his side on the arm of the chair, and the silence stretched between them.

"Maybe you could finally tell us what you know," Hermione said finally.

"Right!" replied Harry, laughing shortly to break the tension. "I honestly don't know where to start…"

"Three years ago you disappeared from your house without a trace," Ginny stated bluntly without hesitation. "You know, it was horrible. Unexpected. The war was over, we were all moving on and piecing our lives back together, and then you two just vanished."

Tilting his head to the side in wonder, Ron asked, "Pardon me, but… The war was over? What war?"

Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his messy hair and set his green eyes on Hermione and Ron. "There was a dark wizard named Voldemort and… It's a long story. Our world, the world of magic, was set in darkness when he was powerful. He killed people, he tried to take over, he didn't stop before anything. It took a long way and effort to defeat him. After his defeat, our world was left in shambles. His followers were being lined up to go into Azkaban, a wizarding prison. Well, we – meaning you two and me – kind of stood at the front of the fight against him and the rebuilding of the Wizarding society. That means we still had enemies. This is not a lie, nothing is a lie any more," he added hastily as he spotted traces of disbelief on their faces.

"There are kinds of magic that probably did this to you, and I swear I'll find out who, how and why they did. One day we went to check on you two after we haven't heard any news from you. There was blood, your blood as we found out by regular magical tests. Another sign of battle was Ron's broken wand, and then we found yours in the back garden, Hermione. And so you were gone. We didn't know anything – there was no trace, no clue. It looked like you've been simply blown up by a powerful, evil curse. Even that's possible," Harry added, his memories vaguely travelling back to Peter Pettigrew and the magic he had used to erase twelve people off the face of the world.

"Oh." And that was about all Ron was able to say. As Harry spoke to him and Hermione, a mixture of fear and pride crawled up his spine. The fear he knew was real. He believed everything this man before him said and he knew that somewhere deep within he could still remember the horrors of that time, and even the ending and victory they must've achieved.

"When you mentioned our house, you mean that we…" Hermione's voice trailed off and face turning pink. Ron didn't say anything, but appeared more alert than ever.  
Grinning ear to ear, Harry nodded. "You see, you two…"

"You were flat mates," Ginny piped up sharply, ignoring Harry's puzzled look. "A-and very good friends."

"Right," said Ron, his face losing the radiant glow it had just a moment ago. "But what about our family? Do I have more sisters, or brothers? Am I the oldest or the youngest?" he asked eagerly, his eyes fixed on Ginny.

Ginny smiled and started telling him all about the Weasleys, and Harry sat back and watched them. Ron was drinking in every word Ginny said with a half-smile, as if he couldn't believe his luck in finding her. Harry wondered just how lonely Ron must've been that this information brought him such joy, and he accepted it so readily, disregarding any confusion and denial. Ginny waved her hands as she described their brothers, her face animated and alight with emotion. Harry hadn't seen her quite this happy in some time, and he had a flash of regret for not believing her all that time when she'd known Ron was still out there.

Hermione was sitting upright on her end of the sofa, a little stiffly, and Harry watched her face for a moment, happier than he could have imagined to see his two best friends again. She was smiling whenever Ron laughed, and though apparently she didn't know it, Harry could still see the affection in her eyes when she looked at Ron. It resembled one of those looks he was never let in on, one that was only theirs and no one else's.

Whatever had been done to them hadn't been a Memory Charm. There was something underlying their current perception, like faint echoes of the past in their minds. It seemed the original memories were still there, with this new reality overlaying them like a sheet thrown over furniture - the real shape was still there, only covered up. That wasn't how Memory Charms worked. He couldn't think of anything that could have this effect on them.

Hermione noticed him watching her and glanced at him with a nervous smile. He smiled back reflexively, still thinking of how this had been done to them.

"Who was I?" she asked quietly, and Harry's smile faded. "Did you know my family?"

"I didn't know them that well to tell the truth. They were Muggles. That means non-magical people. We started meeting more only after you disappeared until…"

"Until they died," Hermione finished for him expressionlessly.

Ron tensed beside her, turning his head and feeling embarrassed for getting so psyched up about his family when it turned out her parents were dead.

"How do you know that?" asked Ginny, standing up from Harry and striding to Hermione, crouching down and taking her hand in hers. This sudden action startled Hermione, but in a touching way as she returned the squeeze.

"Yesterday I went through some old newspapers at a library. I found my name in an article that spoke about two dentists dying in an accident."

"We can tell you more," Ginny spoke softly.

Shaking her head and smiling a forced smile, Hermione blinked her tears away. "Maybe later, not now." This was a happy moment; Hermione didn't want to ruin it.  
Nodding understandingly, Ginny returned to Harry's side and grabbed his hand for support. It was harder to regain the more joyful flow of conversation as Hermione lifted a hand over her mouth as if to hide her quivering lips.

"I don't know what to say. This is so… unbelievable and strange!" Harry exclaimed, trying to lighten up the moment, knowing he was never good at this.

"Tell me about it," Ron replied casually and leaned back in his seat. Harry grinned at seeing Ron look more comfortable with each second. He still couldn't say that about Hermione, though. She looked troubled, glancing around the room restlessly, observing magical objects in awe and wonder, but always tearing her eyes away with worry.

"I understand that this must be complicated, especially since you probably lead your own lives now. Your past is false, however, everything you remember is not true. But what you experienced for the last three years is, that was you as you are, only ripped out from your world and rid of your own and true memories. So… it's your decision whether you want to stay here, with us, where you belong," Harry remarked emotionally, averting his gaze. "Or you can go back." He said the last sentence quietly, not wanting to say it but feeling he had to. They had the right to be offered a choice. But he believed they would stay, both of them. If they felt only the tiniest of imprint of what he felt, then they wouldn't just leave.

Ginny by his side didn't say anything, only poking Harry in his side strongly and biting her bottom lip. He knew he'd hear something about this one from her later on.

Sitting at the edge of his seat now, Ron grinned slowly and nodded his head. "I'm staying," he said with affection, his eyes travelling from Harry to his sister, and then, though only momentarily, to Hermione. "I don't have much to return to, really."

Harry felt overjoyed at this and looked at Hermione. Every eye in the room turned to her and she shrunk a little under their gaze, as if in defense. She didn't say anything, only fiddled with her hands in her lap. It was only when Ron turned to her that she snapped out of her daze. Although she avoided his eyes, it was clear she was fully aware of him staring at her expectantly.

"Sure," she said, a little smile creeping up her lips. "I want to… know more and stay here, with you... all."

Resisting the urge to just gather them into his arms once more, feeling that would be too much, Harry was as happy as he could ever hope. He no longer cared what it would take to bring their memories back, he'd do it. He didn't care that he was wrong and Ginny was right, he'd admit it. He was even oblivious to the fact that Ginny would have Wife Ammo for the rest of their marriage… He'd take it all.

"Let me just… send a few messages. We have to get the word out that you're back! Nothing too overwhelming, of course," Ginny said, standing up and running out of the living room to write letters and surely rouse their owl. Harry imagined the reactions of the rest of the Weasleys. He hardly considered that 'nothing too overwhelming'.

"I'll be right back," he said to Ron and Hermione, going after Ginny.

Harry found Ginny bent over the kitchen table, scribbling a few letters and then attaching all of them to the distressed bird. Watching the owl fly away, Ginny turned around to run back into the living room, but faced Harry.

"Why didn't you tell them?" Harry inquired.

Her face falling, Ginny shrugged. "Don't you see? They're not aware of ever being together. We can't just tell them, 'Oh by the way, you're engaged!' At least not so fast."  
As Harry thought it over, he had to agree.

"I can't believe it. It took them seven years to work out their issues and openly realize and admit their feelings for each other. How long will it be this time around, you think?" he laughed, taking Ginny into his arms for a quick kiss she more than deserved.

"Not long, Harry. They'll be all right. We'll visit the Obliviate squad first thing tomorrow, or even later today. They'll remember without us ever telling them."

"Let's hope so."

Meanwhile, as Harry and Ginny discussed how they would deliver more information, Hermione and Ron finally managed to look each other in the eyes.

"Mad, eh?" Ron said, placing his elbows on top of his knees and rocking back and forth apprehensively.

Smiling at him sidelong, Hermione nodded and took in a deep breath. "We've found them, we did it."

Ron didn't like the faraway and doubting shadow settling over her features. Her expression switched every few minutes, from happy to worried, and that scared him in a way that made his hands go cold.

Moving an inch closer to her, Ron touched the top of her hand. Hermione glanced up at him sharply, but calmed down upon seeing his encouraging, compassionate smile. That's when she forgot about what troubled her: about Jonathan and Edinburgh and her office and everything that stood in the way of this life and the past she was about to discover. Maybe it would eventually catch up with her, but not then, when she was sitting opposite of Ron, finally home and fulfilled.

Author's Note: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. You're grand! A quick update I hope. I will cease travelling for the coming weeks, so I'm hoping updates will be even quicker, yayyy! Love to all and thanks. Please review.

* * *

 **PS: Some of you are very unforgiving about the fact that Hermione had a partner and Ron didn't, and that it isn't fair, and that it means Ron is a shmuck and Hermione a perfect woman with a perfect man. While I value your opinion, it was not my intention to paint it like that at all. Hermione's relationship with Jonathan in my mind is very superficial and devoid of any real meaning. If anything, the connection Ron has with Chelsea is much more meaningful, therefore if you really want to see it as a competition, he wins. I have some experience with lacklustre casual might-as-well relationships, and they're not worth a lot. As for Hermione, the reason why she is with someone even though she should still love Ron underneath it all...Hermione in this story, or Jean we can call her, is maybe a version of what she might have become had it not been for becoming a witch and meeting Ron and Harry who helped her embrace the more genuine, bold side of her. I may be wrong, but I guess it's just my interpretation for this particular story. Anyway, I'm still glad to hear your opinions and feedback, it's interesting to see how differently people look at characters and their actions, so still a big big thank you! :)**


	12. The Storming of the Weasleys

**Memory Dust**

Chapter 12 - The Storming of the Weasleys

 _Mum!_

I don't even know where to start, this is totally crazy, you better sit down. We've found them, we've found Ron and Hermione. They're at our house and I will explain everything once you come or something. It's incredible, they're well and alive, just a bit…well, you'll see. Oh, and please come by the door, not the fireplace.

Ginny

Molly kept reading the letter over and over again. Her heartbeat was steadily gaining and losing in speed. She had to make sure she wouldn't get overexcited. Her heart was not as strong as it once used to be, at least not physically.

The soft happy tears slowly trickled down her cheeks, but she was careful about not dripping them on the letter. It was messy enough, written by a hasty Ginny, with words crossed out and small blotches in places, probably from tears of happiness as well.

There is no bigger pain for a mother than to outlive her child. Especially when that happens twice. It is a crime against nature, Molly thought, and once a thing like that happens, no intake of breath is ever the same. But on the other hand, there are hardly things as uplifting as having the empty place in her heart restored. Molly didn't doubt the letter for a single second, she didn't have second thoughts and was no longer afraid of disappointment. Maybe, in a strange way, she was ready and waiting for this.

Standing up, Molly folded the letter and put it into the pocket of her apron. Steadily walking to the door, she gazed through the open window, waiting for Arthur to come down so they could go and finally embrace their lost son. He was still in the next room, arranging the rest of the family – Bill, Percy and George. They were all to go over to Ginny's and Molly could hardly wait. Impulsively she grabbed slices of the cake she had baked that morning because she didn't want the others to be too hungry from all the excitement. She also wondered whether Ron had missed her cooking. She wondered how much he had missed them all and she wanted to finally find out what had taken them so long to appear again.

Because somehow, Molly knew things might turn out a little more complicated than everyone was prepared for.

* * *

Ron couldn't hold his excitement any longer. While Hermione remained sitting, with her hands folded in her lap, Ron stood up from the sofa and paced the room in quick strides, passing from one end of the room to the other. He observed the many pictures adorning the walls: moving pictures. It fascinated and baffled him, watching himself waving and smiling, captured in moments he couldn't remember.

When he reached a small picture full of people hanging above the mantelpiece, Ron paused for a second. Some faces would possibly spark a hint of recognition in his mind, but his eyes landed on himself and Hermione standing next to each other. Their smiles were a little faint, away from the scene and the people, more in a world of their own. People in the photograph moved and for a speck of a second he thought he had spotted Hermione taking his hand. But it was soon out of sight.

Ginny strode into the room, still smiling brightly, walking from Ron to Hermione, offering tea, coffee, lunch and anything else they would like.

"Mum and Dad will be here in a while, so you should both prepare yourselves," Ginny stated, sitting down. "They are so excited and this was so difficult for us, losing you two, that right now they might be downright overexcited and little overwhelming. So don't get frightened, we Weasleys are like that."

Hermione smiled feebly, but she felt her own excitement rise when she imagined Ron's family arriving. She knew they weren't her family, but she felt as though her own mother were approaching.

But with a little sad feeling, Hermione knew she should step away a bit. This was Ron's family, not her own, and while they might've liked her before, she knew it was not her they were all rushing to see. Ron needed the space to meet his family; she could wait.

Both Ron and Hermione started at a sudden noise coming from the hall. There was obvious commotion going on behind the door and they could hear irritated voices and one authoritative voice hushing them all down.

Ginny patted Ron on the back softly, giving him an encouraging smile and taking a step back as the lock fumbled. The door finally opened, and for a moment, nobody dared to even breathe or move. Ron saw people, many of them, with glowing familiar faces and red hair. But in front stood a plump woman with greying hair that still kept its red flame. She observed Ron and Hermione for one second and was before them in another. Tears were falling from her eyes one by one, but she kept smiling, looking like a beautiful warm sun peeking through rainy clouds. Without further ado she embraced Ron as he had never been embraced. Sobbing into his shoulder, she stroked his hair, but Ron felt all the awkwardness disperse and he felt laughter resonating within his lungs. Ron hugged her back gently, unable to make out all the hasty words she was mumbling into his hair. Suddenly he felt a sting of tears behind his eyelids, but after a furtive glance at the grinning young men still standing in the doorway, he really didn't want to cry.

"Mum," he said almost inaudibly and Molly caressed his cheek gently while wiping her eyes.

"Oh my little Ron, I always knew!" she said, pulling back and observing him. Ron thought he had never before seen a face so sincere and full of tender care. "But you're so grown now, you always seem taller, don't you? And that hair!"

Molly then went over to Hermione while a tall bespectacled man stepped toward Ron, his chin and nose high in the air.

"Welcome home, dear brother," he said importantly, outstretching his arm. Ron smiled gawkily, not knowing what to make of it. He felt like laughing again, but thought better of it and shook his hand cordially. Ginny behind him gave an obvious snort of laughter.

After that the atmosphere in the room eased a little, what with Molly hugging Hermione and Ginny explaining something to the rest of the group still standing in the doorway, the rest of them all burst in and it was a huge load of chaos onwards.

Ron was suddenly circled by all his family, mainly brothers who kept on taking turns coming to him, introducing themselves. Ginny probably explained the memory loss situation.

When an older man approached him, wearing a wizard's hat and a warm, encouraging smile, Ron knew it was his father straight away. Ron outstretched his hand, still feeling a bit awkward after the cordial greeting from his first brother. His father, however, ignored it and embraced him just like his mother had. As long as he could remember, he had never received so many heartfelt hugs in his lifetime.

His brother named Bill lifted him high in the air and actually spun him around, his long ponytail waving after him and his ragged face laughing. "Hey little Ronniekins, you've got no idea how good it is to have you back."

Then came the other brother that introduced himself as George. Ron watched him warily, his eyes widening upon spotting a missing ear. George embraced him just like the others, but it was quiet and mellow, though all the stronger for it. As he pulled away, Ron thought his sad face was meant for laughter, but there was an entire story written in his eyes, one he couldn't comprehend.

"I know this might be a little too confusing," Ginny said, placing her arm around Ron's shoulders, "but you'll get used to us for the evening. And tomorrow, everything will be alright again. There's also one more brother, but he's-"

Her words were cut short as they heard glass shattering in the kitchen. Harry ran into the kitchen with his wand raised, followed by Bill and Mr. Weasley. They heard someone scrambling from the floor, yelling excitedly.

"Where is he? Where's my little brother?"

Just when Ron and Hermione thought the room couldn't hold any more redheads, another one burst in from the kitchen, holding a broom and brushing tiny shards of glass from his travelling cloak.

"Charlie?" they all gasped, pulling aside, letting Charlie pass and hug Ron, tousling his hair.

"How come you're here so fast?" Ginny asked once Charlie let go of Ron who was very out of breath, but smiling more than ever. "I just sent the owl, it couldn't have reached you so fast and…"

"I arrived to Brighton this morning and planned to stay there for the night, but then I got the owl and flew here as fast as I could. Sorry for the window, sis. You know me, I'll try to fix it later."

So, now they must be all, Ron thought to himself happily. But before breaking into chatter again, he passed a quick glance at the door, an almost nonexistent expectation swept through him that was gone the next second. For a moment there, Ron thought that one more person was supposed to walk through that door in order for all of them to be complete.

And then it was hard to talk and hear your own words, Ron thought. Everyone was saying something, everyone was laughing and he felt the room vibrating with happiness, with his happiness upon finding his family. He would never in a lifetime be able to describe the feeling of belonging somewhere again.

Suddenly he thought he had everything he ever wished for, he didn't even mind that he couldn't remember the foundations of these relationships. He felt it, that was enough. He had a best friend, a doting sister, a huge lot of brothers and loving parents. And Hermione.

At that thought, he turned to look for her. He didn't really notice her as he was swarmed with welcomes from his family. She was standing there, a few feet away from him, talking to his father and smiling, but she seemed far away now. And he suddenly felt hugely sorry that there was no family coming to see Hermione in such a style as his.

Right as he wanted to go after her, he was pulled in again by Charlie and Bill. They were telling him loads of things he could or couldn't understand, but all of them made him happy. He didn't even notice how quick his mum was in producing a tray full of cakes so wonderfully delicious that from then on he just felt bliss.

Hermione watched the scene with a smile. She herself felt warmed at the heart after the way the Weasleys took to seeing her. They greeted her with as much enthusiasm as they did Ron, as if she was really their daughter. But it wasn't the same and she no longer was in the mood for such celebrating and intruding.

To her immense relief, Harry dislodged from the redheaded group as well, walking toward her with an affectionate, understanding grin.

"Maybe we should disappear for a while, what do you say?" Harry took her hand and led her away from the Weasleys. Ron was too buried under locks of red hair and repeated hugs and pats on the back to notice. Mrs. Weasley, however, looked up as Hermione turned away from them and was walking away with slumped shoulders. Smiling sadly, she nodded Harry's way and then turned her attention back to her son.

Hermione stood in the kitchen, placing her hands on her neck and looking around casually.

"What a nice place," she remarked blankly. It was a slight overstatement in that moment, because the window was broken and the table with the chairs were knocked over.

Harry turned to look at her and wiped away the little tear that slipped from her eye.

"I'd like to show you something. Maybe it won't be as cheerful as the flamboyant reunion next door, but I think you should see it."

"Oh, yes please," Hermione said helplessly, her heart breaking at every sound she heard from the next room. She was consumed and disgusted by the jealousy that overcame her. The Weasleys seemed to be genuinely and equally happy to see her, but she wasn't their daughter, not their sister, not their blood. She needed to get away.

"Let me warn you. This might be a bit uncomfortable, but just hold my hand and trust me, alright?"

Hermione watched him, his sparkling eyes behind round glasses and messy hair, until her eyes lingered on his scar. Suddenly she remembered that dream she had while on the train ride to London. The boy was now a man, standing before her.

Squeezing his hand, Hermione nodded. "Okay, I trust you."

Shutting her eyes, Hermione gritted her teeth and waited for the weird, uncomfortable sensation to end. When it did, she landed with a little thud on soft ground. Harry helped her keep her balance.

"See, you're getting better. Soon enough you'll be able to Apparate yourself again. Soon you'll do everything yourself again, including magic," he grinned.

Returning the smile, knowing that was something to look forward to, Hermione looked around, inhaling the fresh air, much more cooler than back in London.

"We're in Godric's Hollow," he said as Hermione looked around.

"Wow," Hermione breathed as a plain war obelisk magically turned into almost alive statues of two people holding a baby. Harry walked towards it and traced his fingertips across the lettering on the bottom.

"They were my parents," he said quietly.

"They're beautiful," Hermione said in awe, hugging herself, feeling a cold chill in the air. The cold here was different, as if the place was charmed by it forever.

"You were with me the first time I saw this. Back in the days of the war," he added, turning to look at her.

Running a hand through her hair, placing the loose strands of hair behind her ears, Hermione smiled and took a step to Harry. "I had the feeling I wasn't here for the first time."

"Come on," Harry said after a moment, turning left and heading for a small graveyard a little in the distance. As they stepped in, Hermione observed rows of gravestones, covered by flowers, moss or the wet grass. She followed Harry in silence to the other end of the graveyard until they reached two gravestones.

As she read the names, she already knew. Jane and Eustace, her parents. Covering her trembling lips with her hand, Hermione's eyes overflowed with tears.

"I figured this would be a good place to bury them," Harry said softly from beside her. Hermione wanted to say something, she wanted to thank Harry for bringing her here, for taking care of them when they died. She wanted to say something to them, but she didn't know what when she couldn't even remember their faces. She could only cry.

"I'm so…sorry," she said jerkily, sniffing. "I mean, I didn't even know them and look at me, I'm a mess."

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Harry shook his head. "Hey, don't feel bad at all. My parents died when I was one year old. Another result of Voldemort and his hunger for power. And so, I don't really remember them at all. All I have is the strength they've given me and the love I will always feel for them. When your parents go, it doesn't matter whether you knew them or not. They take away a piece of you that can't ever be retrieved."

They stood for a little longer until Hermione took a deep breath and turned away. Wiping her face with her sleeve, she tried to smile at Harry.

"You all right now?"

Hermione nodded and walked away from the graves, followed by Harry. "Let's take a walk. It's actually very nice over here. Is this where you lived?"

"Once, long ago," Harry said as they reached the kissing gate and left the graveyard, looking over the land bathed in the golden sun. "One day I'd like to return, with Ginny."

"Are you two married?"

"Not yet," Harry smiled, "but we are engaged. You know, Ginny believed you were still out there from the start. I was a bit more doubting, all the time. But I was afraid. I'm sorry I've done such a lousy job finding you," he said heavily. Hermione looked at him and saw that this really troubled him. "I tried, really. Posters, spells, everything that came to mind. But the world of magic is sometimes too deep and difficult to get through."

"Don't worry about it, we're back now. Back in the world of magic and it's more than we could ask for. I just wish I could…not feel so distant and unknowing."

Hermione felt good being able to talk to Harry so easily. She felt their mutual trust and affection coming back to them and she felt a warm friendly comfort whenever he smiled that reassuring smile of his.

"And I wonder if I'll be good at all these magical things you do. It looks easy, but I reckon it's pretty difficult to manage it all," she blurted with furrowed eyebrows.

"Don't worry, Hermione," chuckled Harry. "I promise that once we lift this memory charm off you, you'll be back in shape in no time. Because let me tell you, you were always the best witch in our generation."

Grinning, Hermione took Harry's arm and they walked some more, back toward the spot where they Apparated. The negative feelings were ebbing away. She hoped she left all her sadness and heartbreak back in the graveyard. Now she would go back with Harry, to her friends, her family. And she would know magic again, she could almost feel the prickling sensation in her fingertips.

Hermione knew she was in the right place, because she felt so right herself. The thought of her other world, slowly getting ready to collide with her newfound reality, seemed as unimportant to her as the odd chill in the air on such a gorgeous, sunny day.

 **Author's Note: Thanks again for reading everyone, and for reviewing. The discussion about these other relationships seems to be going on. I'd like you to know that I really take suggestions into consideration and I've been thinking about it a lot. I decided to cut Jonathan out of the story. He isn't as relevant to the story as he was originally at the time of when I had first started writing this story. He was mostly there to deepen the conflict Hermione will have to start overcoming, but your insights made me see that there are other ways to create conflict than having a pointless boyfriend in the way. I'll be going back to edit chapters (which might take a while) and make Hermione a single lady. The first three have already been slightly edited, if you feel like giving it a read but it's not necessary. I have to admit I like the idea more as well, and wanted to thank you for all the input even if some of your views were slightly more extreme than mine :D**


	13. Not the Easy Way Out

**Memory Dust**

Chapter 12: Not the Easy Way Out

With tired mind come tired eyes, and soon Hermione was blinking in the pale light, forcing herself awake. She still needed to think, and she hated those moments when her brain refused to do so. Sometimes she really disapproved of biological processes and things like melatonin. Suddenly, though, just as she was ready to give up, the door into the room creaked open.

Hermione heaved herself up on the bed and saw Ginny standing in the doorway, with her hands behind her back, biting on her bottom lip.

"Is everything alright?" Hermione asked. She watched Ginny approach her bed and sit down, still feeling a bit wary. She was, after all, more or less a stranger to her. But as soon as the bed creaked under her weight and Ginny reached out to touch her hand, Hermione relaxed.

"I see you can't sleep either," she remarked, lighting the lamp in the corner of the room with a flick of her wand. "I'm so happy that despite your memory loss, you're actually still the same person," Ginny said slowly, but it was so heartfelt Hermione had to take in a deep breath.

"Am I really?" she asked, her voice quivering.

"Yeah," Ginny chuckled. "You still care, and you're still so inquisitive, so reserved and yet with such a big heart. I missed you so much."

Hermione didn't want to end up in tears again, but she felt very close to it. Opening her mouth to say something, Hermione got all the planned words stuck in her throat. She couldn't even finish a thought these days, let alone start one. There were so many things she wanted to say or ask that each time she attempted to say something, it already seemed unimportant in comparison to her next thought.

"What?" urged Ginny, cocking her head to the side.

"I'm…confused," Hermione heard herself say, and as that one word parted her lips, the rest of it was as effortless as breathing. "It's too much in a very short time. Two days ago we left Edinburgh, being who we are, in the hope that we might find a little clue as to what might be wrong with us. And now I'm here, with a whole new identity, history, life, a _new name_. I know you're not lying, I know all this is true, but…it's a knowledge unsupported by any facts, memories, real tangible things I could have as evidence. Without it, without my memories, I just find it hard to function. All I have is the belief that they will be brought back, with magic of all things!" The last part of her speech sounded unnecessarily heated, but Ginny didn't seem to mind.

"You know, I was just waiting for all these doubts to kick in. I understand. It's terrible what happened to you. You have no idea what has been ripped from you and...it'll get easier soon. And it's so incredible you and Ron both found each other..."

Ginny's voice trailed off once she finally took in just how frightened and trouble Hermione's face was. Leaning her elbows on her knees while heaving a sigh, Ginny looked into nowhere, her hand still at her mouth, tapping her lips disconcertedly. Only then did Hermione notice she was clutching something in her other hand.

The silence between the two women stretched on in an uncomfortable contrast to their previous easy talk. Ginny broke it with a nervous laugh, standing up and looking everywhere except Hermione.

"There's so much I want to tell you," Ginny began, "but you must be tired, I'm sure there'll be time for stories soon."

"Yes, I suppose so," Hermione replied timidly, twirling the fabric of the covers in between her fingers, eyeing Ginny's fisted hand.

"Good night then, tomorrow is a big day. We'll figure all the problems out then."

"Right."

With that, Ginny just gave a grin and a nod of the head before retreating into her bedroom.

As the door closed, Hermione groaned and fell back into her pillows. She thanked heaven she was so tired, otherwise she wouldn't be able to fall asleep at all.

Tomorrow was a big day, indeed, and Hermione was caught up in the fear that she might just get more than she bargained for. 

* * *

Harry stirred awake when he heard the less than quiet shutting of the door. Ginny wasn't exactly the quiet type of girl anyway, and his sleep was very light ever since he could remember. Looking up from his pillow, he saw her leaning against the door, muttering something under her breath.

"You're awake?" she asked when she noticed him yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"I am now that you're stomping around," he replied gruffly, sitting up and lighting a lamp at the bedside table. The room was thrown into a soft golden glow, making Harry squint his eyes.

Gritting her teeth, Ginny sat down on the bed irritably. "I'm not… stomping." The last word sounded much calmer, resigned.

"What happened?"

Avoiding his eyes, Ginny replied with opening her palm and revealing a beautiful engagement ring sitting there.

"Oh my, Gin, you didn't…did you?" With her, one could never be sure. "What's your point? First you didn't want them to know like this, us just telling them out of the blue, and now you're secretly sneaking around the house with Hermione's engagement ring, playing matchmaker?"

"I know what I said this afternoon, but I felt so excited that we've found them and that they've found each other! And then I thought, gee, tomorrow Hermione'll find out she's engaged to Ronald Weasley, my lovely goof of a brother. I mean, someone had to warn her and make her ready for it."

While Harry just stared blankly, Ginny let out a sigh of exasperation, placing the ring on the bedside table. "It was useless anyway, I didn't tell her," she added sadly, turning to him. "Harry, Hermione looks so broken, like, a bit different than Ron for example. I'm not sure she's handling all this very well."

Harry sat up and put on his glasses, meanwhile allowing Ginny to cuddle next to him. "I know, even if this possibility of them having lost their memories, it still surprises you just how strange it makes things. Also Hermione just found out her parents are gone on top of the fact that her whole life was a lie."

Harry kissed the top of Ginny's head and shrugged his shoulder. "But once she remembers about Ron…"

"Just because she'll remember Ron doesn't mean she'll feel any more comfortable with the situation. You know how long it took them to work it out the first time. I'm worried that will really prove problematic," sighed Ginny, snuggling close to Harry and turning the lights off. 

* * *

Ron looked out of his window and saw a large garden stretching below him. He found himself surprised at the absence of weeds, but it was still spring, so the grass was as clean and green as ever. Behind the fence and the hedges were dusty roads and fields leading to an overgrown orchard. On the right side of the land was a small paddock with a pond, bringing back vague images into his mind. He tried to pinpoint at least one of them; the little boy running after a group of red-headed boys, dragging a broom too big for him; splashes of the cool water on a ridiculously hot day; spinning around and heaving potatoes over the hedge.

These images came and went, not one of them staying long enough for Ron to remember more than the impression. He thought about telling his family of these flashes, and they could clarify them for him, but it was all like waking up from a dream: everything was fresh the moment you opened your eyes, still as real as the very air you breathed, and then it was all gone from your mind within a blink of an eye.

Walking away from the window, Ron dressed quickly and exited his room, leaving the violent glowing of orange behind. As he went downstairs, his steps were slow. He paused every second to inspect a corner of this strange house that had been his home once… that was his home now again.

There wasn't much time to fully take it in the previous night when they arrived, tired from the gathering at Harry's. Hermione stayed behind at their flat, and Ron was sorry he couldn't show her the house. Her presence would make it easier, just like his presence helped her back in the dentist's office. He hoped it had helped her, anyway.

Soon Ron reached the second floor, spotting two doors, one an ordinary brown colour, while the other was painted in vivid and flamboyant colours. It bore a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes poster, which he knew was his brother George's joke shop. Approaching it, Ron considered opening the door, maybe talk to George. His older brother was quite amusing, Ron thought, but a bit moody with his manner always changing to and fro, enthusiastic to distant.

In the top left corner of the door, Ron saw something carved. He peered closer and read 'Fred and George Weasley'.

The hair on Ron's neck stood up slightly as he thought who Fred was. Suddenly he didn't feel like going inside the room any more. Backing away, Ron turned on his heel and followed down the spiral, rickety staircase of the Burrow. One door on the first floor was opened, and even though Ron didn't want to disturb anyone, he peeked in and found himself in an airy room lit up by the morning sun. It smelled flowery and reminded him of Ginny a lot. He reckoned this must've been her room before she moved in with Harry.

Just as he was about to exit, something jumped at him from behind. Tiny little arms wrapped around his neck and a squeaky 'boo' echoed in his ear. Chuckling, Ron twirled around the room, hearing a girl's laughter follow.

Finally she let go and landed on the floor with a thud. Ron turned around to look at a small girl, still giggling.

"Hey, who're you?"

The thing was, the little girl didn't look like a Weasley at all besides a few freckles. She had smooth blond hair almost down to her waist, no freckles and rather striking features. She looked like a little porcelain doll, but that was as far as the resemblance went. Her face was dirty from eating chocolate and there were grass stains on the knees of her trousers from crawling on the ground. In her blue eyes she had a mischievous spark and her cheeky stare made Ron want to chuckle again.

"The name's Victoire," she said with a grin, showing her missing tooth in the front. "I know who you are. You are my missing uncle."

Crouching, Ron smiled at her and nodded. "You're right, that's me. Who are your parents?"

"Dad and Mum," she said with a laugh, running past him down the stairs. Ron followed her and found himself in the spacious kitchen where his mother stood by the stove. Victoire was pulling on her apron. Whatever she said made Molly turn around to Ron.

A smile broke across her lips. "Good morning, sweetheart," she said, striding across the kitchen and already ushering him to sit behind the long table. Victoire climbed into a chair next to him, still keeping the toothless smile intact.

"I see you've met your niece," Molly remarked, returning to the stove. The smell of preparing breakfast filled Ron's nostrils and he sighed contentedly, leaning back into his chair, his stomach grumbling. "She's Bill's daughter," Molly added. "She usually stays in your room when she's around, but we put her in Ginny's since you're back now." The last words were said with a motherly affection, soft and dream-like, as if Molly was still trying to decipher whether it was happening for real or whether it was just a dream. She placed breakfast in front of him and kissed his cheek. "She's a little mischievous spirit, just like Bill when he was young," Molly smiled, stroking Victoire's hair and wiping a chocolate stain from her cheek.

As Ron ate, Victoire stared at him the whole time, grinning cheekily from ear to ear.

"So, why do you stay in my room?" Ron said with his mouth full. As Molly shot him a disapproving glance, Victoire seemed to have no trouble of understanding.

"I like the Cannons!" the girl exclaimed. Ron felt a rush of pride and joy hearing this, although he couldn't explain why. As far as he knew, he didn't really have an idea who the Cannons were, though he recalled the name from all the posters in his room. "Dad says I took that silliness from Uncle Ron."

"Oh well, whatever your daddy Bill says, don't always believe it. He thinks he can be smug because he's the oldest. Cannons are the best."

That seemed to win Victoire over. When Ron finished his breakfast and leaned back into his chair with a full stomach, Victoire jumped off her chair and grabbed his hand.

"Come with me, Uncle Ron."

"Thanks, Mum," said Ron and followed his niece, walking hunched over to let her tiny figure walk freely while holding his hand. She grabbed a framed picture from the mantel piece and pulled him outside into the garden. They sat down on the stairs of the porch.

"Is it true you don't remember anything?"

"Well, sort of, yeah," Ron said.

"So you don't even know that granny Molly is your mummy?"

"I do, I feel she is, but I can't remember her any more than the others. But they will fix me this afternoon and I'll remember everything again."

Victoire listened to him with furrowed eyebrows and then just shrugged. Placing the picture on her knees, she showed it to Ron. He could see the entire Weasley family huddled in the picture, but they all looked slightly younger than they were now. For one, Bill's face was different, less rough and scarred, more beautiful and smooth. Also, each one of them was wearing a knitted sweater with an initial in the middle.

"That's my daddy," Victoire said, pointing to Bill. "Granny always says she's trying to make him cut his hair, but he never says yes. I won't ever cut my hair too much either, because Mum says haircuts aren't good for the soul," she added as a matter-of-factly, shaking her head at the thought. "That's Uncle Charlie, he didn't used to come around a lot but now he does. He always brings me toys. He's my godfather," she said proudly, "and he said that when I'm ten, he's gonna bring me a pet dragon. But I won't be ten for a loooong time," she added with a mournful little sigh.

"How old are you now?" Ron asked.

"I'm four years old," she told him, holding up four fingers. Ron smiled at her and looked down at the picture again, and she resumed her lecture, pointing at the people in the photo. "This is Uncle Percy. He's boring and I don't like him, but Granny says he's family, and I have to like family, and Mum said just pretend. This is Aunt Ginny. She plays Quidditch and teaches me tricks. That's Granddad an-"

"Wait, who's this?" Ron cut in, pointing to two boys sitting next to each other. One of them was George, and the other looked identical to him. "That's…"

"That's Uncle Fred," Victoire said, her smile vanishing. "He was Uncle George's twin. Daddy says he died in the war. Everybody tells lots of funny stories about him. Except Uncle George, he doesn't really talk about him."

There was a moment of silence. Victoire inspected the picture further while Ron rubbed his chin and felt sadness creep into him. He couldn't remember Fred any more than he could remember the others, but while they were here with him, he was gone and he would never meet him again. The knowledge that he didn't have a single recollection or memory of this lost brother deepened his grief.

He had to find his memories again, he had to get it all back.

"Do you want me to show you around?" Victoire piped up cheerily, placing the picture aside. She grabbed Ron's hand again and tugged until he stood up, then gave him a wheedling smile. "If you open the broom shed for me, we can fly a broom."

That thought cheered him up a bit, so he smiled and followed. At least he would pass the time while waiting anxiously for his memories to come back. 

* * *

A few hours later, Hermione and Ron were ushered into the Ministry by Harry, Ginny and Arthur. Waiting for Arthur to pick the right Obliviator to do the counter curse, Harry and Ginny gave the other two a tour of the Ministry. Both of them were in awe of the place and also surprised at the majority of people that came up to them to say hello and claim how great it was to have them back.

Hermione couldn't understand how she could've lived without this world and not missed it. Everything was gorgeous to her, from the flying memos and wizards dressed in robes to the green-flamed fires and tiny little house-elves scuttling around with trays of tea and coffee. Although she didn't really like the fact that the trays looked awfully heavy for the house-elves, making a little mental note to ask either Harry or Arthur whether it had to be like that.

There was little to no time to talk with Ron. Ever since they said good night before each staying in a different house, they'd been listening more than talking. Hermione tried as best she could to absorb every piece of information she heard from Harry and Ginny. The things they said were sometimes unbelievable, but they were great memories, full of wonder and thrill. Whatever had been before her memory loss must've been a good life, and Hermione was sorry she had lost it and couldn't remember. She longed for those spoken memories to feel like more than just stories she heard others tell.

Soon Arthur caught them up, a young man with a thick beard walking in his wake. The tour of the Ministry ended and the six of them took the lift into the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

Ron and Hermione didn't have to undergo the usual procedure of paperwork, they were taken straight to a spacious room with a desk and a sofa on the opposite end of the room.

"Good afternoon, my name is Craig Woodland and I'm the Head of the Obliviator Squad. I hear that you're suffering from an extensive memory loss of three years and if this has been done by the Obliviate curse, I will have no problem fixing it. The process isn't complicated, you might just feel a little drowsy and confused after I perform it, but then the memories should be coming back almost at once. Are you ready?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look before nodding. Harry, Ginny and Arthur were all smiling encouragingly, taking a step back from Craig.

Hermione almost made a movement to grab hold of Ron's hand, but thought better about it and kept her hand limply beside her own body. The Obliviator came closer to them and lifted his wand. Hermione closed her eyes, inspecting her mind so she would be able to tell the difference later on. She thought of Harry and Ginny, wonderful people she had already taken a great liking to, but still they were people she'd only met a day ago. Then she thought of Mrs. Weasley and her motherly smile, the way she always brought a scent of baked cookies and home with her. While it was lovely, it was still unfamiliar. Finally, Hermione thought of Ron. She hoped her cheeks weren't really as red as they felt. She saw him clearly in her mind, even though her eyes were firmly shut, and she felt the faint butterflies in the stomach, a sense of tenderness washing over her, mingled with joy and affection, firm but without a source and reason.

Not long now, she thought.

An incantation was said out loud, but Hermione forgot to catch it before her mind was wiped blank and everything faded away.

Hermione and Ron found themselves sprawled on a spacey sofa, waking up within seconds of each other. Looking up and waiting for the edges to come back into sharpness, Hermione noticed all the expectant faces staring at her. There was Ginny, Harry and Arthur, Ron's father. She recognized them, and that alone ignited a spark of joy in her, but they were still the same people they had been just a moment before she passed out. Panic kicked in, so Hermione glanced sideways for Ron to find him looking at her with a very similar expression.

The gentleness she suddenly felt was so overwhelming she longed to just reach out and touch him.

Ron breathed in and out quickly, ignoring the crowd of people waiting for one of them to speak. He felt happy, because he knew the spell worked. Looking at Hermione staring back at him with expectation and hope in her eyes, he gulped. He felt like the ocean had just broken over his head and swept him out to sea. He loved her and that's what had made him think it had to work. He almost laughed to himself, already knowing he had loved her before, now, all the time.

A smile broke over his lips, but it didn't last long. Hermione broke eye-contact, furrowing her eyebrows, her eyes travelling to Ginny and Harry. Ron himself felt the knowledge wash away, just like the huge wave of the ocean. It swept you and knocked you off balance, it whirled the sand, but it would be gone the next second, leaving no mark behind.

The more seconds passed by, the more Ron realized he still couldn't remember a solid thing. His feelings couldn't be denied, but the memories and foundations he had expected to see weren't there. Instead of his real past, instead of all the things said to him in the last twenty four hours, the only thing he was able to recall was his unreal and unremarkable past.

"Well, did it work?" Ginny asked, making Hermione stand up and pace the room, biting on her nails.

The Ministry official twirled the wand between his fingers, watching the scene with interest.

"It didn't," Ron said, heaving a sigh and leaning back into the sofa, hiding his face behind a hand. For one second, he had thought everything was okay and back to normal. He had thought he had truly realized that he'd loved Hermione and that in the past she had loved him too, which she would remember. But she didn't. It didn't work on him; it couldn't have worked on her.

The sad thing was, memory or no memory, the emotions he experienced were real and there was no denying them now.

"Maybe we should do it again," Ginny said, walking to the Ministry official. "Try again. Maybe the Obliviate charm had been done way too strongly. And it's two of them, maybe if we do it separately."

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Arthur said, pulling Ginny back by her arm, because she was towering above the Ministry official in an intimidating manner. "Craig is the best at this. It might take them a little while, though."

"Not sure, sir," Craig said, rubbing his beard as all eyes turned to look at him. "The counter-curse for the Obliviate charm is as simple as the Memory charm itself. I've been doing it ever since it was invented. The victims remember straight after we perform the charm. They hardly ever pass out either."

"You should've said that earlier," Harry said irritably, striding to Hermione. "Are you all right?" She nodded absentmindedly, and Harry turned to Ron. "And you, Ron?"

"I guess."

"What are we going to do now?" Ginny asked with a hint of frustration to her tone.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair and looking from Ron to Hermione.

"There has to be another way," Hermione remarked. She wished she would be able to solve this or come up with something on her own, but it eluded her; she didn't have the knowledge of this world and the magical ways of it.

Craig the Obliviator shrugged. "I'm really sorry. Perhaps we can try again, although I don't think it'll make a difference. Still, if we're to try again, you will have to wait a couple of more days."

"What? Why?"

"This is a powerful charm. It gets into your head, deals with your memory, consciousness and unconsciousness. You can't just undergo it on a daily basis. It's very exhausting for the brain and the mind."

"Craig is right," said Arthur, giving Craig a nod his way. He nodded back and left the room, having to attend to other cases.

Sighing, Arthur turned to the rest of the people in the room, wearing a worried expression. "Ginny, you take Ron and Hermione home while I try to consult about this with some other experts. Harry, you might want to come with me. Everyone will be much more willing to help once they learn your best friends need help."

"Sure." With that, they both exited the room. Ginny faced her brother and best friend, forcing a smile that would somehow ease the situation.

"You know, things rarely go according to plan in this world and life," she laughed nervously.

They didn't give much of a response, though. Sighing, Ginny led them out of the room toward the nearest fireplace. She was sad herself, but she couldn't have imagined how they were feeling. They both walked with slumped shoulders, avoiding each other's eyes and hers.  
But in a fleeting moment she noticed the way Ron looked at Hermione, and her heart ached. Hermione didn't remember anything she felt for Ron, she didn't remember all they shared and all they had gone through.

Ginny hoped she wouldn't have to resort to it, but it seemed that she would have to tell them about their engagement and relationship sooner or later.

What she had seen in Ron's eyes was unrequited love. She recognized it well, and she had a bad feeling that if this didn't work out, things might not go any easier onwards. Especially concerning the lives they had left back in Edinburgh.

As for their memories, that seemed to be more complex and sinister than it first appeared. And as anger welled up inside her, Ginny thought they should raise a new point – to find the people responsible for robbing them of their true life, memories and the chance to find their happiness.


End file.
